


I'm Half-Doomed and You're Semi-Sweet

by aceofspades1998



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Underage Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Not-Evil Draco, Possessive Draco Malfoy, References to Depression, Slow Build, Slytherpuff, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofspades1998/pseuds/aceofspades1998
Summary: "Having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness."Clara Diggory is the archetype of a Hufflepuff- she's kind to all, a friend to most, and honest with everyone. Sure, she might not be as esteemed or recognized as the infamous members of the Golden Trio...and, well, she was never really all that brave, anyway. But when her brother Cedric becomes a competitor in one of the most dangerous tournaments in Hogwarts history and she's assigned a sneering, white-haired Slytherin as her class partner, her entire life flips upside down.Clara faces a crushing new reality, and bravery is no longer a choice- it's a necessity. She just hopes Draco can see that, too. Draco/OFC(Trigger Warnings in certain chapters at top)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 36
Kudos: 151





	1. Goodbye to a World

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings when needed in the beginning of each chapter! I am using some ~creative license~ from the movies to diverge from the trajectory portrayed on the screen. Also, I realize that the "Cedric's sister" is a more common theme in some fanfics than others, but I promise this is a totally original work. I hope you all enjoy, please leave a review!

**Chapter 1: Goodbye to a World**

**First Year (Flashback):**

Clara Diggory could not stop shaking.

Two Mary-Jane clad feet barely grazed the floor of the train compartment as her knee bounced nervously, and her dark brown hair curtained around her shoulders. With red-rimmed eyes flickering to the passing scenery outside, she sniffled and clumsily wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. She didn’t want to be aboard the Hogwarts Express, she didn’t want to go to some school far away from her mother and father, and last but not least, she did not want to sleep in a room with people she didn’t know in a strange, unfamiliar place.

“You need to cheer up,” her brother, Cedric, said as he bumped her shoulder encouragingly. She had tried to put on a brave face, but she found herself sulking even as her brother tried to lift her spirits. “What happened to all the excitement from last week, or even from the last _year?_ You couldn’t wait to come to Hogwarts.”

Clara slumped in her seat. “I’m still excited,” she lied, not even attempting to disguise the sadness in her voice. Cedric shot her a skeptical look, and his eyes narrowed at her as he propped his feet up on the seat across from him. “Are you nervous?” he implored knowingly.

“I’m _not_ scared! I’m… I’m _not_ ,” Clara rushed out, her arms crossing across her chest as she averted her gaze from his. So maybe she was a little…nervous. Who wouldn’t be? She never went to a real school before, the only teacher she ever had was her mother. And besides, there were so many things to be nervous about. Which house would she be in? Would she make her parents proud and be a Hufflepuff like the rest of her family, would she make any friends? It seemed as though Cedric had a million of them, and she would hate to be lonely for the next six years.

Clara played with the wrapper from the toffee she nearly choked on as she tried to eat and fight big, fat tears at the same time. Her mother had snuck some candy into Clara’s satchel before she left; a few pieces of her favorite toffee and a bar of Wizochoc lay at the bottom of her bag along with a folded-up piece of parchment paper with spidery script.

_To Our Darling Girl,_

_We love you very, very much, and we are so incredibly proud of you! Don’t miss us too badly, my dear. I promise we will owl you very soon. Remember to make lots of friends and show Hogwarts that beautiful Diggory smile. Don’t eat all your sweets on the train ride and try not to be too nervous!_

_Love, Mummy and Daddy_

Clara sighed shakily as she fidgeted in her seat, trying to blink away her blurry eyes as she concentrated on the British countryside outside her window. She wondered if the train could turn around and drop her off at home. It was run by magic, after all.

  
“You know,” Cedric said with a chuckle. “I was really, _really_ scared my first year. I didn’t know anyone, and I was so scared of the dark… I slept with a Lumos charm under my blankets for two whole months.”

Clara’s eyes widened dramatically, and her piercing grey eyes met matching ones. “No,” she said in astonishment. “You never told me that!”

“Well, you never asked. And besides, it was really embarrassing.”

That was the best thing about her big brother, Clara thought to herself. There was something so intrinsically honest about his presence, she couldn’t help but believe everything he told her, even though she was certain Cedric made up stories just to comfort her. When she was just a little girl and cracked a window anytime she was upset, Cedric was right by her side to calm her down by telling her a tale of how he shrunk a stray cat so he could hide it from their parents, and when she spent hours with him and her mother to buy her first wand at Ollivander’s, he assured her it took him just as long. Clara smiled warmly up at him, her misty eyes long forgotten as she thought of a smaller version of the boy next to her hiding under his covers.

“Do you… do you get very homesick, Ced?” she asked him warily, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Do you ever miss us when you’re gone?”

“Well, of course I got homesick. How could I not? I was a little lonely until I started making friends. But you have something that I didn’t.”

“What?”

“You have _me_ ,” Cedric replied playfully as Clara rolled her eyes with a smile. “Not many people get to say they have as cool a big brother as you do, Clara. You’ll get all the perks. Once you get sorted into Hufflepuff, you can sit next to me in the dining hall, and I can ask some of the older girls to watch out for you in your dormitory. And you’ll have such a blast, I’m sure of it.”

Clara smiled, but her face fell as she thought about her brother’s words. “But…but what if I don’t get into Hufflepuff? What if I get sorted into Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor, or…Slytherin?” she whispered conspiratorially, her eyes darting from side to side as if anyone could hear them.

Cedric tilted his head at her and let out a bark of a laugh. “Yes, Clara. You, the very same girl who cries when Dad kills spiders in the house, will definitely get sorted into the house of some of the most wicked people known to the wizard world. You’re a shoe-in.”

She swiped her hand at him clumsily as he chuckled at her, and she pouted her lip concernedly. “Ced, I’m being serious.”

Her brother took a deep breath, and he tried desperately to school his features even though there was an amused twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Clara,” he told her earnestly. “Unless you have some kind of secret identity I don’t know about, you’re a Hufflepuff. Maybe, maybe a Ravenclaw, but I don’t think you’re competitive enough.”

“I’m just,” she said with a sigh. “I’m…afraid. I don’t feel ready.”

Clara just needed _one_ more year. One more year to prepare for the transition, a few extra months with her mother and father so she could finally do this all on her own. As excited as she was to finally experience Hogwarts with Cedric, she still felt apprehensive about all of the changes that were happening. He assured her she was still his best friend in the world, but would that change once they went to school together? Would she ever be able to branch off and do things on her own, so she wasn’t pulling on her big brother’s robes like a toddler?

“Do you know what Mum said to me before I left for school for the first time?” Cedric asked her gently. She shook her head; she refused to cry in front of her parents at the train station if only to make them feel better about sending her away. “She said…being afraid is alright. Fear can be a superpower. It can make you faster, and cleverer, and stronger… and when you feel the most afraid, that’s okay. Because if you are very wise, and very strong…you can still be brave,” he explained, his low voice reassuring as her knee stopped jostling up and down. “So whenever you feel afraid, just know that it’s okay. It… you’ll never stop being scared of things. But it doesn’t mean you’re a coward. Not if you don’t let it make you into one.”

Clara met his gaze with a dimpled smile and nodded to herself as she took in his words. Maybe he was right. She had been afraid of a lot of things before, after all. Like the dark, and snakes. But she’d overcome those on her own (mostly, anyway). Hogwarts would be the same. She just had to adjust to it, and Cedric was right. She had _him_ , so even if everything went wrong and she didn’t make any friends or like any of her classes, she had her brother watching out after her. That was a lot more than a lot of other people could say.

“I can’t even imagine going to Hogwarts without you,” she told him truthfully, her voice waterlogged with unshed tears. “I’m nervous as it is. I don’t think I could do it.”

Cedric gave her a soft look, his eyes bright and twinkling. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing there’s no without. You’ve always got me.”

Just as she was about to tell him he had her by his side just as much, a young girl around her age with big, bushy brown hair and large teeth cleared her throat in the doorway. Clara immediately whipped her head towards her, eyes wide.

“Excuse me,” the girl said confidently, her eyes wandering around their seats as if she was searching for something. “Have either of you seen a toad?”

Clara immediately glanced around her, peering between her knees at the room under her seat. “I’m sorry,” she said kindly. “I haven’t seen anything.”

“Yeah, me neither. Have you lost yours?” Cedric asked her. The girl’s cheeks turned bright red as she looked at the older boy, and she cleared her throat again. “No, i-it’s not mine. It’s a boy named Neville’s.”

“It’ll turn up, surely. Wait, are you a first-year?”

The girl nodded, her face splotchy as she blushed and shifted her feet nervously. “Yes. But I’ve been practicing a few spells on my own, of course. To prepare for classes. I want to be as ready as possible,” she retorted quickly. Cedric smiled at her and glanced back at his sister. “No kidding! Clara’s a first-year too. Do you need help finding your frog? She’d be happy to help- “

“-It’s a toad,” the girl blurted out, effectively interrupting the boy from his suggestion. “Sorry. You see, frogs have very wet, smooth skin while toads-“

“I-I can help you look for him,” Clara piped up unsurely. Her brother turned to her with an encouraging grin, and she clumsily got to her feet. “If you need help? I’ve been told I’m good at finding things.”

The girl assessed her for a minute, her eyes searching her face for a sign of deception. With a short nod, she motioned for the other girl to follow her and Clara smoothed out her new, black robe as she rose from her seat. With one last nervous shrug, she looked at Cedric as he gave her a wink and she followed the bushy-haired girl down the aisle of the train car.

“Hermione Granger,” she said, whipping around and extending her hand out in front of her. Clara’s eyes widened as she grasped it, giving it a slight shake. “What’s yours?”

“Clara. Clara Diggory. That was my brother, Cedric. Next to me.”

Hermione gave her another intense look, her eyes slightly narrowed. “Oh… what year is he? What house?”

Clara felt heat rise to her face at the rapid fire of the questions and shook her head of her thoughts. “He’s, uh, he’s a third year. Hufflepuff.”

“Oh, interesting. Well, you look just alike, you know. Even though you’re much smaller than he is.”

“Yeah, that’s what, uh, that’s what everyone tells me.”

Hermione glanced between another group of students; her eyes trained and focused as she looked for the toad. Clara looked around to her right, quickly averting her eyes as an older student gave her a questioning look.

“Is that the house you want? Hufflepuff, I mean.”

Clara was confused by the question. What she wanted? It really wasn’t a matter of want. She would be lucky to follow her family’s footsteps, and besides, it wasn’t like she had a real choice in the matter. The Sorting Hat would know her better than she knew herself, Cedric had said earlier, and it would choose where she fit best. She just knew where she couldn’t go, the very house that made anxiety bubble up in her chest whenever she heard the name. Slytherin was out of the question.

“Yes, I suppose so…but I’m not too picky,” she replied, watching the bushy-haired girl’s eyes widen. “How about you? Where…where do you think you’ll be sorted?”

“Gryffindor, obviously. It sounds like it’s the best house by far… I know Dumbledore himself was in it, but maybe Ravenclaw… definitely not Hufflepuff or Slytherin, no offense.”

Clara shook her head. “None taken,” she said lightly. Her parents had warned her about this, how Hufflepuffs were often seen as dumb or cowardly by the other houses. But they assured her there was far more important things than the stereotypes held by people who didn’t know any better, and who was she to disagree with that? “Well, I hope you get sorted for Gryffindor, if that’s the house you like best. Red would suit you, I think.”

Hermione gifted her with a genuine smile and pushed her shoulders back confidently. “Thank you, I think so, too. Anyway, Clara… do you want to hear something interesting?”

The dark-haired girl’s eyebrows rose, and she nodded eagerly. Hermione smirked. “Guess who I saw in a one of the compartments a few rows back?”

She waited in silence as Hermione let the anticipation build. She truly didn’t have a clue who it could be… Dumbledore himself, maybe? “Who?”

“ _Harry. Potter_.”

Clara’s eyes widened comically, and she glanced around her nervously. The Boy Who Lived? The very same child who somehow defeated one of the most evil wizards in the entire magical world, before he could even walk? “H-Harry… Harry Potter?!”

“Yes. He was with some ginger boy, I don’t know…but he was very nice. I fixed his glasses for him,” Hermione boasted, a confident smile on her face as she held her head up high. Clara didn’t even know what to say. A real-life celebrity, on the very same train as her? Going to the same school, in the same year? She couldn’t even imagine meeting somebody who had been the legend of every modern tale and story she could think of.

Suddenly, she noticed something move from the corner of her eye. Turning slightly, she saw a brown, wart-covered toad sitting on the floor between a group of boys sitting and grinning suspiciously. “Got him!” Clara called excitedly; her face lit up with glee as her hands reached out in front of him. She quickly launched herself between the seats and bent down, picking the creature up gently as she gave it a once over. “I’ve found him, Hermione!”

As she stroked the rough, uneven back of the toad in her hands, a boy with shockingly white hair looked up at her in a mixture of surprise and disgust. “Excuse _you_ ,” he said haughtily, causing the boys across from him to laugh. “Is that… _thing_ …yours?”

Clara blushed brightly and shook her head. She had always loved animals, and even though frogs weren’t exactly cute in the same way a cat or an owl was, her heart melted as she looked at the small creature. “Oh, I’m sorry- it’s not, actually. This little cutie belongs to someone else. He was lost, you see.”

The blonde looked at her with contempt and rolled his eyes. “You’ve interrupted our conversation.”

She looked at the boy in confusion, not sure what to make of his aggressive attitude. She hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? Maybe the boy just wanted some credit for having the frog- it was in his compartment, after all.

Clara merely hugged the toad a little closer to her, petting its tiny head with her index finger. “Thank you for finding him,” she told him kindly. His jaw dropped slightly, and he nearly let out a rude laugh as he shook his head at her.

“ _Find_ him? I would _never even_ -“

“Thank you so much, really," Clara interrupted with a dimpled grin. Turning on her heel, she walked away from the boys and lifted the toad to show Hermione. “Look! Isn’t he adorable?”

Hermione gave the boys a suspicious glance, and her lip curled in slight revulsion as she thrusted the squirming creature at her. She extended a hand to push it away from her, and Clara blinked at her. “It’s a good thing you came with me,” she said. “I don’t know if I would have been able to touch it. And… I suppose you’re not too bad at finding things, after all.”

“Told you.”

Both girls chatted as they walked down the aisle in search of the toad’s owner, and as they passed by Cedric, Clara excitedly shoved the toad in his face with a broad grin.

Her brother gave her a forced smile as he moved away, his expression looking a little peaky at the wet, sticky animal in her palms.

Even though Hermione was a little…self-assured, to put it kindly, Clara found that she didn’t mind all of the facts and information she was spouting at her. Any information she could get was better than nothing, and she wondered how the bushy-haired brunette knew so much about Hogwarts even though she wasn’t even a student yet. She didn’t even think Cedric knew all this stuff.

A tall, chubby-cheeked boy marched down the aisle in exasperation, and his eyes widened dramatically as he looked at Clara and Hermione. “ _Trevor!_ ” he yelled exhaustedly. “You need to stop running away!”

Clara looked back at the toad, her eyes flickering up to the boy in front of her. “She found him, Neville. He was sitting between some other first-years,” Hermione informed him happily.

“He’s very social. Oh Trevor, Gran will be so angry if I lose you again.”

The boy, Neville, turned bright red as Clara flashed him a bright smile and brought the frog up to her face. “I love your pet,” she said sweetly. “He’s so cute!”

“C-Cute?” Neville asked her incredulously. She nodded.

Reluctantly handing him over, Neville grasped the toad in his hands and made a chastising sound at Trevor as its large eyes stared ahead blankly. “This is Clara Diggory. Clara, this is Neville Longbottom,” Hermione introduced. Clara gave him another smile, and he ducked his head.

“Hi Neville. I-I’m sure you’re very relieved to have him back,” she said with a hint of jest in her voice. If it was possible, his face reddened even more, and he gave her a nervous smile. “T-Thanks… uh, thanks for finding him. He’s always getting loose.”

“There’s got to be a spell for that,” Hermione prattled on. “It just seems inconvenient, is all. Toads are a very popular pet among witches and wizards- “

And in just an hour after her departure from home to Hogwarts, Clara had made her very first two friends.

* * *

Clara rocked on her heels as she waited with all of the other first-years, her fingers tapping against her leg as she stood next to Hermione. The older students had long since separated from them, and Cedric had given her a light hug as she watched him head into the opposite direction before she boarded a small boat with her new companion.

Her stomach flipped and she couldn’t tell if it was from the hours of travel, or if it was because she was standing in awe of one of the grandest castles she had ever seen. She’d seen pictures of Hogwarts, of course. But nothing compared to seeing it for the first time in all of its massive glory, the towers and structures so large and intimidating, she couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated.

“Are you nervous?” Hermione asked her, her hands uselessly smoothing out non-existent wrinkles out of her robe. Clara looked around at all the other students, finding slight comfort in all of their matching black attire as she realized how much she blended in. She shrugged nonchalantly, even though the butterflies in her belly told a different story.

“I’m trying to be excited,” she whispered honestly. Hermione let out a shaky breath and nodded in agreement as they walked up flights of stone staircases. “Me too. I wonder if we’ll meet Dumbledore. I want to shake his hand and thank him, of course.”

“You think he’ll be there? I’m sure he has a lot of important things to do.”

Hermione gave her a look of disbelief. “Of course he’ll be there,” she said proudly. “Especially since _Harry Potter_ is among us.”

Clara seemed to have forgotten about that, and her nervousness multiplied.

As they climbed the final flight of stairs, a tall, stern-looking old woman with a black witch’s hat waited at the top of the landing expectantly. The first-years crowded around her, and she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said, her tone laced with a sing-song quality Clara couldn’t discern. “Now, in a few moments, you’ll pass through these doors and join your classmates. But before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses.”

Clara felt her face pale. _I just got here_ , she thought inwardly. _I thought they would have waited a little bit…at least until tomorrow!_

“They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin,” the woman explained slowly. “Now, while you’re here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points, any rule-breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup.”

Suddenly, a loud croak broke the silence among the students and Clara could hear a muttered curse under someone’s breath. “Trevor!” Neville exclaimed in the front, his toad jumping from his arms. The woman stared at him with an unimpressed expression, her eyes slightly wide at the interruption.

Clara’s giggle rang out among the silence, the only sound heard among a sea of poorly- suppressed smiles.

“Sorry,” Neville said quietly as he gathered the toad back into his hands and turned back to the crowd.

“The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily,” the woman said as she spun on her heel and headed inside two large, heavy doors.

A slight beat of silence commenced among the students, but it was quickly disrupted by the very same blonde boy Clara saw earlier when she was looking for Neville’s toad. “It’s true then, what they’re saying on the train,” the boy said insolently. “Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.”

Whispers broke out among them, and Hermione gave Clara a knowing glance. See? Told you, she communicated to the dark-haired girl silently.

“This is Crabbe and Goyle. And I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Clara looked over at the blonde, and she saw a small boy with glasses standing next to another boy with bright red hair. The red- head let out a muffled laugh, and Draco shot him a heated look. “Think my name’s funny, do you? I’ve no need to ask yours. Red hair and a hand-me down robe? You must be a Weasley,” he said arrogantly.

The Weasley boy shot him a dark glare, and Draco turned slightly to give the other boy a sharp smile. “You’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. And you don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

Clara swallowed thickly as tension built in the air, the boys exchanging harsh smiles as more whispers filtered through the crowd. “I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks,” the boy, who Clara now guessed was Harry Potter himself, replied shortly.

Draco looked as though he wanted to say something more, but the older woman from before made a reappearance and rapped him on the shoulder with a scroll. With one last glare, Draco walked back to his friends.

“We’re ready for you now. Follow me.”

As the doors opened, Clara hadn’t seen anything like it before. Students in black robes sat at long tables, the ceiling appearing like the night sky as Hermione whispered to her about how it was bewitched to look real.

Flames adorned the walls, burning in scales held by gargoyles, and the room was cast with a warm, candlelit glow as they walked forward. Clara had grown up with magic her entire life, but nothing was as magical as this. She felt like a tiny grain of sand in a huge ocean; small and insignificant in comparison to the grandeur around her.

The woman walked onto the stage and turned towards the students. A hat, worn with age and covered in patches, sat on top of a stool as the first-years filtered in. “Now, before we begin, Professor Dumbledore would like to say a few words,” she said seriously.

A long wooden table on the stage was seated with stoic looking adults, but a man with a long white beard rose from his chair and placed his hands out on the wooden tabletop in front of him. “I have a few start-of-term notices I wish to announce. The first years, please note, the Dark Forest is strictly forbidden for all students. Also, our caretaker, Mr. Filch, asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death,” Dumbledore croaked evenly. “Thank you.”

Clara lightly tapped Hermione with her elbow in concern, her brows furrowed at the damning words coming from their headmaster’s mouth. Hermione shrugged at her, and for once, didn’t seem to have an explanation for Dumbledore’s haunting words.

The older woman rolled out a scroll in her hands and looked out at the crowd. “When I call your name, you will come forth,” she explained. “I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.”

Slowly, she read out the names of the students in front of her, and one-by-one, students were placed into one of the four houses as applause rang out from around the hall. Clara really thought she was going to be sick as names ticked off the list, and she felt a begrudging resentment that her last name was so early in the alphabet. She wished it began with a Z, so she’d go last and everyone would have stopped paying attention by that point.

_Abbott. Hufflepuff._

_Abernathy. Ravenclaw._

_Belby. Ravenclaw._

_Bletchley. Slytherin._

_Bobbin. Gryffindor._

_Bones. Hufflepuff._

_Cho. Ravenclaw._

_Cram. Slytherin._

“Diggory. Clara Diggory,” the woman read out. Clara’s entire body shook with a noticeable tremor, and Hermione squeezed her elbow reassuringly. With wide, bright eyes, she swallowed and walked up the stairs to the stage.

As Clara peered out over the crowd, she desperately searched for her brother among the sea of black-clad students. The Sorting Hat was placed onto her head as she pushed herself onto the stool, her hands folded nervously in her lap as she bit her lip.

A strange sensation came over her, a slight tingle running down her spine as she blinked. She curled her fingers in and out, clenching and unclenching into fists as a rough voice appeared in her head.

_Hmm…another Diggory, I see. A strong mind, but an even stronger heart…you’re intelligent, but other things are much more important, is that right? Ah, a hard-worker, honest…but most of all, incredibly kind… definitely…no doubt about it…_

Clara’s fingernails clawed into her legs anxiously as she awaited the hat’s answer. Her eyes zeroed in on her brother, who was rising slightly out of his seat among a throng of other yellow-tied students so he could see, and she smiled despite herself.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

In seconds, the entirety of the table she was staring at erupted into cheering and whistling, and she could see Cedric standing and rallying wildly as relief settled into her body. A huge smile broke out on her face, and she glanced towards Hermione, who was smiling and clapping proudly. Clara sent the girl an encouraging grin and clumsily hopped off of the stool and ran off the stage to the Hufflepuff table.

She felt a rush of excitement as hands gave her welcoming pats and one-armed hugs, the bright yellow ties blinding her as older students congratulated her. She was surrounded by love and support, and she felt like one piece of the larger puzzle of her Hogwarts had slid into place. How could she ever think she would have been placed in another house? This was where she was meant to be.

Clara stumbled forward until she ran into her brother’s broad, strong arms. Cedric was smiling so widely it looked painful, and his eyes glimmered with pride as he rubbed his sister’s arm happily. “I told you,” he boasted. “I knew it!”

She stepped over the bench to take a seat next to him and butted her head into his shoulder warmly. “I’m so happy, Ced,” Clara exclaimed delightedly. Cedric poked her in one of her large dimples, and she swatted at his hand playfully. “Watch out, Hufflepuff,” he echoed to the people around them. “The Diggory’s are taking over the house!”

She chuckled and redirected her focus back to the stage, her eyes wide as she watched Hermione climb onto the stool and mouth calming words to herself. Clara wasn’t sure Hermione was even looking, but she sent her as reassuring a smile as possible as the girl squirmed nervously.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Clara rose from her seat and clapped loudly, letting out a whoop in excitement as she watched the other girl get placed into her desired house. “Way to go, Hermione!” she shouted loudly. Hermione turned towards her and gave her a lively wave and sat down next to the red-headed boy from earlier.

As more and more first-years got placed into their houses, Clara watched in fascination as other students either smiled at the news or blinked in confusion. She couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky as she watched her peers walk to their tables, unable to imagine if she had been sorted any other way.

The blonde boy from the train, Draco, walked onto the stage confidently and shoved himself atop the stool as he smirked out at the audience. Clara wondered if he always sneered like that, or if he was trying to act more boastful than he felt. How could he seem so unshaken? She had nearly peed her pants, and he was acting like this was just a normal day.

The hat barely grazed the white hairs on his head when it’s loud voice quickly echoed through the hall. “SLYTHERIN!” the hat boomed. The green table applauded, and the smirk on Draco’s face tilted up as he narrowed his eyes.

“Real shocker there, that one,” Cedric said next to her with a laugh, staring at Draco as he walked to his new housemates. Clara looked at him with questioning eyes, but her brother was quickly distracted by a new presence on the stage. Turning to look, she saw Harry Potter climbing onto the stool, and the hat sat on his head for what seemed like hours.

It appeared as though Harry was talking to the hat, something Clara hadn’t even thought of when she had been sorted several students before. Was the hat…sentient…enough to speak to? Was Harry telling it where to put him? He was the most powerful wizard in all of Great Britain, wasn’t he?

“Better be…GRYFFINDOR!”

The Gryffindor table stood in standing ovation, their cheers and claps louder than anyone else’s. She even noticed Dumbledore was clapping, a knowing gleam in his eye as he looked at the dark-haired boy sitting with his new housemates. Clara wondered if he got the house he clearly wanted, but based on the smile on his face, she was pretty sure she answered her own question.

As the sorting of the first- years concluded, Dumbledore rose from his chair and tapped on a gold rimmed glass. “Let the feast, begin!”

Clara watched in wonder as the table filled with every food you could imagine, every spare inch of space covered in everything from ribs and chips to fruit and rack of lamb. Cedric quickly grabbed her plate from under her hands and started shoving mashing potatoes onto it as he slapped away prying hands. “Oi, first-years, _first_! Clara gets first pickings,” he yelled with a smile. Clara shoved an elbow into his ribs and grabbed the plate from his hands. “Oh really? Then why are you giving me all _your_ favorite foods?” she asked playfully.

Cedric gave her a knowing grin, and she stuck her tongue out at him as a girl in front of her chuckled at their antics as he popped a chip in his mouth.

A blonde girl with dark blue eyes and a lazy smile sat across from Clara, and she quickly realized she, too, was one of the first-years. “Hi,” Clara told her warmly, allowing herself to settle into something more comfortable as she celebrated her placement with her new friends and family. “What’s your name?”

The girl looked at her with surprise, her cheeks pinkening slightly as she forced herself to swallow the food in her mouth. “Hannah,” she coughed out. “Hannah Abbott.”

“Clara Diggory. Are you happy about your sorting?”

“Oh definitely. We’re from a long line of Hufflepuffs.”

“Us too! This is my brother, Cedric…”

And just as easily as Clara made her first two friends, she had just made a third.

* * *

As the first-years finished their celebratory dinner, prefects came to guide them to their dormitories. Clara looked up at Hannah excitedly, and she bumped Cedric with her hip as she bid him goodnight. “Have fun,” he told her. “Don’t get lost!”

As she walked forward and followed after the Hufflepuff prefect assigned to them, Slytherin’s first-years also started to depart for the night. As Hannah prattled on about rooming assignments, Clara accidentally stumbled into the person next to her and quickly rose her hands to apologize.

“Watch yourself,” said a rude voice, a voice Clara immediately identified as Draco after hearing him speak to Harry Potter in the same tone. She gave him an apologetic glance. “Sorry,” she exclaimed in horror. “I didn’t mean to trip into you.”

“Walking is actually quite easy. You put one foot in front of the other, I’m sure you’ve done it before,” he bit out. Clara couldn’t even find it in herself to be bothered by his tone and shrugged. She hadn’t ever been spoken to so condescendingly before. “Sorry...oh! And, um, congratulations on Slytherin…I suppose I’ll see you around in some of my classes,” she told him earnestly.

The blonde’s eyes narrowed at her, searching hers for something she couldn’t place. It was as if he thought she, too, was being sarcastic, even though she was merely trying to be friendly. “Hm,” he huffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“…Congratulations? It just means…congratulations.”

Draco’s face morphed into another sneer, but the Hufflepuff prefect called over to her and beckoned for her to catch up. She sent the boy an apologetic glance, and she shrugged as she started walking away. “Sorry, I have to go…have a good night!” Clara said as she flashed a quick smile up at him.

Even though she walked briskly in an attempt to catch up to Hannah and the rest of her new peers, she couldn’t help but hear the boy mutter disgustedly under his breath.

“Hufflepuffs.”


	2. All the World's a Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara begins her fourth-year with a run-in with the Golden Trio on the Hogwarts express, and a strange interaction with some Slytherin boys.

**Fourth Year:**

Clara Diggory stared dazedly out of the window in a small, but spacious compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Her grey eyes watched oak trees pass while she fought against the sleepy drooping of her eyelids; the scenery unchanging for the last hour as dreary skies and vibrant green filled her vision. Small, nimble fingers played with a loose thread on her primrose pinafore dress, and her foot bounced against the ground just as it had her very first train ride to school.

Hannah Abbott, her very best friend in the entire world (besides her brother, of course), shot her wary glances as Cho Chang giggled loudly with Cedric in the seats across from them. Clara distantly wondered if she too felt like a voyeur to Cho’s pink cheeks and Cedric’s unintentionally obtuse replies to the poor girl’s attempts at flirting.

“No, you’re _definitely_ the best Quidditch player at Hogwarts, Cedric.”

“I… I don’t think so. The lads on Slytherin’s team have got us beat every year.”

“ _Cedric!_ Stop being so modest. You’ve got to know how amazing you are.”

“I’m not being modest! I’m telling the truth, Hufflepuffs always have a tough time out there on the pitch.”

“Clara, don’t you think your brother is the best player?”

“…Clara?

“ _Clara!”_

Blinking in an attempt to draw her focus away from the gloomy view outside her window, Clara shifted and re-crossed her legs as she glanced at her brother and his…non-girlfriend? Girlfriend? She wasn’t sure. Cho looked at her expectantly, and Cedric merely gave her a knowing smirk as she smoothed out her dress. “I’m sorry… I was daydreaming. What were you saying?” she asked the other girl politely as Hannah bit back a laugh.

Cho tilted her head to the side in the way she always seemed to when she was with the Diggory siblings. It was a look that bordered on something between impatience and confusion, as if Clara was some sort of puzzle she couldn’t quite figure out. With a light laugh, she playfully slapped Cedric’s kneecap and leaned into him. “I asked if you thought your brother was the best Quidditch player at Hogwarts.”

“Oh!” Clara said with a look of surprise. “Um, yes, I think you are, Ced.”

Cedric let out a bark of a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he looked at his sister. “Cho, I hope you realize my sister knows about Quidditch just as much as I know about Muggle sports- close to nothing.”

Hannah huffed in agreement and Clara stuck her tongue at her brother and her best friend. “That’s not true,” she lied. “I know there’s hoops and Quaffles and Golden Snitches- that’s three things, right there!”

“Oh really?” Cedric challenged playfully. “What position do I play?”

“ _Seeker,”_ Clara answered confidently, leaning forward as she narrowed her eyes at him. “I may not pay much attention to Quidditch, but I do pay attention to _you,_ you know.”

“Well, you’ve come a long way. Maybe one day, you’ll even play a real game instead of trying to discreetly fly away mid-scrum,” Hannah told her playfully. Clara pouted and slid in her seat, embarrassment flooding her mind as she thought about the first (and only) time she tried to play a friendly game of Quidditch with some other Hufflepuff girls. She definitely didn’t see the appeal of the sport her brother had practically risen to Hogwarts fame from; she preferred to focus on the feeling of butterflies in her stomach as she flew higher and higher, her feet swinging as she straddled her broom. An activity that was _far_ more fun, if you asked her.

Clara let out a pathetic whine in protest, her hands flying to her face to shield her from the chuckles emitting around her. Hannah wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a kind squeeze, a silent reassurance that her comment was all in jest. Clara merely bumped her head against the blonde’s shoulder, scrunching her nose at her in distrust. “It’s okay,” Hannah told her with a laugh. “You’re good at so many other things! Cedric just got all the athletic genes in the Diggory family, that’s all.”

“ _That’s_ for sure.”

Cho and Cedric went back to their teasing, effectively shutting out the world around them as Clara retreated back into the recesses of her mind and stared out the window. There was an odd thrum under her skin, the feeling that something was somehow…off, different… this year more so than any other before it. She and Hannah had talked about fourth year for ages; the year they would finally stop being underclassmen and would start receiving some of the privileges the older students enjoyed. Clara wanted this year to be _good,_ to be _great,_ but she could feel a strange shift in the atmosphere on the train to school that didn’t exist before.

Maybe the shift started when Cedric and her father came back from the Quidditch World Cup, their hands shaking and eyes wide as they told her and her mother about the Death Eaters’ invasion of the campsite. Having a parent who worked for the Ministry was sometimes frightening in and of itself, but knowing that her own brother was confronted with the chaos and fear of an actual… _attack…_ made Clara’s stomach twist and her face pale with terror she had never felt before. She couldn’t comprehend that there were forces in this world who would want to hurt innocent people; happy families attending an entertaining a sporting event who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was far too grateful that her father was well-trained for these situations and was able to get himself and Cedric back to the portkey quickly, but she couldn’t help but wonder…

Clara felt a warm hand move onto hers, and with a glance to her left, she saw Hannah giving her another concerned look. “Are you still thinking about it?” the blonde asked her quietly, trying to keep her voice low as Cedric sat next to them in close proximity. When the World Cup attack happened, Hannah had owled her urgently in total panic, thinking she had gone with her father and brother. She had promised to come straight to Ottery St. Catchpole from Godric’s Hollow if she didn’t reply quickly enough; her handwriting was uncharacteristically sloppy from distress.

Inwardly, Clara thought about what would have happened if she _had_ gone with them. She probably would have slowed them down, if she was being honest, and all three of them would have been trampled by the terrified crowd. This situation actually made her grateful that she wasn’t a Quidditch fan.

“I’m just thinking in general,” she replied to Hannah, sending her a small smile as she glanced into a pair of worried blue eyes. “I… I feel like fourth year is going to be different from the last three, don’t you?”

Hannah scoffed. “Yeah, very different,” she said sardonically. “I’m taking arithmancy, so I’ll be far more morose than I was a few months ago.” Clara laughed brightly, sending her a playfully pouty lower lip as she jostled her arm. “Poor little Hannah,” she giggled. “I’ll bring you biscuits and tea from the Great Hall when you’re trapped by a fortress of library books.”

“Oh, you’re too kind.”

“As I always say, I do the best, for the best.”

Hannah laughed back, but after a moment, her smile sobered as she searched Clara’s face. After being friends for the last four years, sleeping in the same dormitory and spending nearly moment with each other, both of them knew the other better than they knew themselves. “You know, you can talk to me about anything,” she assured seriously. “I don’t want you to do that thing you always do.”

“What thing?” Clara asked her curiously. Hannah’s face softened, and she patted Clara’s hand. “That thing where you pretend you’re not upset because you don’t want to upset anyone else,” she answered.

“I promise I’m not upset,” Clara said honestly. “I’m just… contemplative, that’s all.”

“Well… I’m here if you want to get anything off your chest. And…for what it’s worth, I’m really happy we’re rooming together, again,” Hannah said with slightly rosy cheeks, the sweet admission making her face flush. With a warm smile and another tight side hug, Clara tried to convey as much gratitude and love for her best friend into their embrace as she could.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sound of the Honeyduke’s Express trolley on the other end of the traincar, and both girls glanced at each other in glee. Cho seemed to sit up a little straighter as well, and as Clara and Hannah both got up from their seats, the brunette shot her brother’s…friend… a questioning glance. “Cho, do you want to come with us to get some sweets? Ced, do you want anything?”

Cho seemed delighted at the invitation, her smile genuine as she popped up from her shared seat with Cedric as she nodded her head. “Yes!” she replied. “I’ve been craving pumpkin pasties all summer.”

“Can you get me one as well, Cho?” Cedric asked her kindly. With a shy smile, he nodded, and Clara grimaced in slight disgust as Cho’s eyes glazed over with affection for the boy. It wasn’t the first time she had seen a girl with that expression look at Cedric. Over the past few years, she definitely noticed the straying eyes among the female student body at Hogwarts as they followed after her big brother; lovestruck by his gentle giant demeanor and his dimpled smiles. All the girls loved him, and the boys couldn’t find it in themselves to hate him. He was far too nice, too mild-mannered and polite, to be on the other end of anything other than stereotypical male jealousy. And it helped that he was quite good at Quidditch.

And Cedric, being Cedric, was almost always glaringly oblivious to the long-winded sighs and glassy-eyed expressions as he threw himself into Quidditch and his grades and his prefect position. Cho was a nice enough girl, popular in the same way her brother was if a little quiet. It was nothing personal, but Clara simply could not understand how _the_ Cedric Diggory, handsome Seeker-extraordinaire with a kind smile and light eyes, was the same person as Ced, her brother who used to insist on wearing all of his clothes inside out as a small child. It was a little difficult to accept the fact that Cedric was growing up and maturing when she still saw him as the rosy-cheeked fourteen-year-old who held her hand on her first trip on the Hogwarts Express.

All three girls walked towards the Honeydukes trolley, Sickles and Knuts jingling in their palms as they ruminated over which sweet they should buy. Clara herself was internally debating over whether to buy a chocolate cauldron or some pink coconut ice, but she stepped over to the kind old woman pushing the heavy cart with a wide smile. “Can I get…hmm, maybe not…um…perhaps I’ll get…”

She heard Hannah sigh loudly behind her, the sound of a person who was far too used to her best friend’s inability to make a decision when it came to such small matters like which candy to choose. Shooting the blonde a pouty glare, she turned back to the woman and straightened her shoulders. “Can I please have pink coconut ice? Thank you!”

After being handed the candy, Clara glanced up and noticed Harry Potter staring off in her direction, not at her but at someone else. “Harry!” she exclaimed happily, squeezing by the trolley to give her friend a hug. “How are you? Have you had a very good summer at the Burrow? Cedric had such a good time with you at the World Cup…well, before…anyway! How are you?”

Harry returned the hug if a little awkwardly the way he always did whenever she showed him any amount of physical affection. It had taken Clara most of her first year to overcome the shock and nervousness of being around such a well-known celebrity, but her friendship with Hermione helped her realize the shaggy-haired boy was just like anyone else, just as normal and just as flawed. Now when she looked at the Golden Trio, she merely saw them as a scrawny boy with crooked glasses, a red-head with a goofy grin, and a near-genius girl with a head of hair that had a personality all of its own, and perhaps that’s why the trio liked her. In a school full of wizards of witches of varying intentions, Clara’s were quite clear. The glory, the heroics… she could respect their chivalry and ambition, but she wanted nothing to do with it.

In many ways, Clara Diggory was the exact same girl she was three years ago- the girl with homesick, red-rimmed eyes who caught runaway pet frogs for blushing boys with a big smile. The more things changed, the more she seemed to stay the same.

“Hullo, Clara, I’ve been well. How are you? How are you doing, how’s your brother?” Harry replied. Clara waved her hand flippantly and quickly rambled about her lackluster holiday, having done nothing more than help her mother in her greenhouse while Cedric practiced Quidditch every single day. Glancing over, she saw Hermione and Ron talking animatedly in the train compartment Harry was peering out of, and she lit up with delight.

Her happiness quickly dimmed as Harry’s cheeks turned bright red, his eyes flickering from the floor to something near her. Clara looked next to her and noticed immediately that he was staring at Cho as she ordered a pumpkin pasty for herself and Cedric, and her eyes narrowed slightly. Following his gaze, she saw Cho and Harry share blushing grins before the other girl spun on her heel, pumpkin pasties in hand. With a slight nod, Cho made her way back to her seat next to Cedric, and Clara blinked in confusion.

Clara was a lot of things, but blind wasn’t one of them.

“Hannah,” Clara said quietly, turning to face the blonde girl next to her. “I’m going to say a quick hello to Hermione, I’ll be back over in just a minute.”

“Alright, I can take your chocolate cauldron and put it on your seat if you want, so it doesn’t melt in your hands. Also…if you want to mention to her that I’m in arithmancy this term and I’ll need all the help I can get, I wouldn’t mind that at all,” Hannah replied suggestively, a silent plea in her soft blue eyes. Clara smiled at her and nodded with playful exasperation, handing over her sweet as Hannah let out a relieved exhale. “I’ll ask her, don’t you worry. ‘Mione’s always happy to share her genius with us commoners.”

Harry turned away from the trolley and took a seat, noticeably empty handed as Ron chewed loudly on some Drooble’s. Clara bounced into the doorway as the cart moved further down the aisle, her cheeks slightly red as she rocked on her heels. “’Mio-ne,” she sing-songed as the bushy-haired girl looked up from the newspaper in her hands. Hermione’s face immediately softened and her eyes lit up as Clara walked between the seats to wrap her friend in an embrace.

“Clara!” she said delightedly, her hand coming up to touch the dark-haired girl’s newly cut locks. “You’ve cut your hair!”

With slightly pinkened cheeks, she waved a nonchalant hand at the other girl. “You’re the only one who noticed,” Clara told her with a laugh. “It was getting too unmanageable. But it’s still quite long, I think. Mum says it suits me much better, she took me to the salon across Honeyduke’s, wasn’t that kind of her?”

Straight, deep brown hair that nearly verged on black was now cut right below her bust, a major change after growing it out nearly to her waist for the past few years. A weight, both metaphorical and physical, had been lifted from her when she saw her dark locks fall to the floor around her. Clara had been desperately afraid that the new layers framing around her shoulders would make her face look too wide, a small insecurity leftover from years of prepubescent chubby cheeks. But the minute she saw her reflection, she realized she looked much more like a young woman instead of a child, and her worries disappeared.

“You…you look g-great,” Ron piped up from the seat next to Hermione, his neck flushed a patchy red color while his friend next to him gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. With a slack-jawed expression of disbelief, he glanced over to Hermione’s sharp glare. “What? It was just a compliment, Merlin’s beard, Hermione!”

“Oh, thank you Ron, that’s very nice of you to say,” Clara said encouragingly, giving him a weak smile as she watched the red-headed boy’s eyes roam over to her chest. She quickly folded her arms and cleared her throat, jerking him from his stare.

Both girls chatted about their respective summer’s away from Hogwarts as she ignored Ron’s extremely obvious wandering gaze, and Clara’s shoulders tensed in discomfort. If Cedric was completely oblivious to the girls around him, Ron’s own obtuse nature was the opposite. Her brother never paid any attention to the longing looks of anyone around him, but Ron was the kind of boy who _left_ those longing looks. She wondered if he even realized that she could feel the heat of his stare as she giggled across from Hermione, confiding in her that even though the Quidditch World Cup had happened a few days ago, she was still unsure of which country’s teams had even played. 

“Sometimes I’m so confused as to how you and Cedric are from the same set of parents,” Hermione laughed. “Your brother’s one of the best players Hufflepuff has ever seen, meanwhile you’re out in the stands accidentally rooting for the wrong team.”

“Who says I’m rooting for the _wrong_ team?” Clara said wryly. “Maybe I enjoy the underdog. And I suppose I just want everyone to have a good time, it’s good to spread all that good cheer around. The fun of the sport, and all that.”

“Bloody hell, that’s the most Hufflepuff thing I’ve ever heard,” Ron said with a slightly disgusted tone. Clara sent him a cheeky smile and shrugged. “What can I say? I have a reputation to uphold.”

* * *

“Congratulations, Henry! Congrats, Alathea!” Clara said loudly, her smile big and encouraging as she gave some final welcomes to the new class of Hufflepuffs with her housemates. Giving warm shoulder pats and arm squeezes to the newest baby badgers as they took seats around the long, wooden table, their faces ranging from excitement to downright disappointment. It was a sight she had grown used to after being in the most mocked house at Hogwarts, and she merely shrugged it off. Hufflepuff was a bit of an… acquired taste. Some might not like it at first, but after a little bit of time and effort, Clara had seen countless upset first-years pull a complete one-eighty as they fell in love with the jovial spirit of their house.

Sitting between Hannah and Ernie Macmillan, they ate their celebratory Hat Sorting dinner with nervous eleven-year-olds squeezed between most of the upperclassmen. “Remember those days?” Ernie said with a playful shoulder bump, wiping his mouth with a napkin he carelessly threw on his empty plate. Clara rolled her eyes and gave him a wicked smile, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice as she rose from her seat. “Do I remember nearly wetting my robes when I sat up there with that hat on my head? It’s a memory I’m not too soon to forget.”

How could she forget how she cried in her bed the entire first night at Hogwarts from homesickness? How maybe, like her brother, she too lit a Lumos charm under her blanket as the dark corners of the dormitory sent a chill down her spine. Not that she’d admit that to anyone who didn’t already know.

Ernie scrunched his nose at her crass words and let out a chuckle, shaking his head at the blonde on the other side of Clara. “Bloody hell, you have an awful way with words.”

With a huff, she scowled at the sandy-haired boy and slapped him harshly on the arm and followed after Hannah as they made their way to the Hufflepuff dormitories. “What a foul thing to say!”

“What? You don’t!”

She narrowed her eyes at him and made a point to turn her back to him as she fell into step with her best friend, her forehead crinkled in distaste. “Rude git,” she grumbled under her breath, her gaze flickering over to her friend. “Anyway, I spoke to ‘Mione about arithmancy.”

Hannah looked at her with hopeful eyes. “And?”

“And… she said she’d be more than happy to help you. But we both agree, you’re just as smart as she is, and you will _definitely_ get an O.”

“Oh, please.”

“What? You are, Hanns, I wouldn’t lie to you. And… I know for a _fact_ Neville Longbottom would agree.”

Hannah’s face bloomed bright red, and she ducked her head between her shoulders as she looked away. “Blasted legilimens,” she said to her, her words wavering as she swallowed thickly. “I’d ask how you know that, but I’m afraid I already might have an idea.”

“I’m not a real legilimens _yet,”_ Clara said sadly. “It’s still very hard for me to do. Professor Snape said I might not ever become good at it last term, even though I’m a natural-born.”

Legilimency had become the bane of Clara’s existence, especially since her second year, when she started to wonder if the natural intuition she had with the emotions of the people around her was something more than some soft-hearted Hufflepuff characteristic. When she had gone to her Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to ask him about it, with unnervingly narrowed eyes on his otherwise blank expression, Snape had told her she had a very, very weak born aptitude for the skill most people spent most of their lives trying to master. Clara herself couldn’t read minds exactly, it was more of an…awareness, of sorts, as she picked up on the feelings of specific individuals if they were loud enough. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that of all talents, she received a nonverbal one she didn’t even particularly know how to use. She never had any malicious intent, but she often found herself picking up on things like jealousy and arousal among her classmates without even trying to, much to everyone’s annoyance. 

“Don’t listen to him. You’re only a fourth-year, I guarantee you’ll be a seasoned professional by the time we take our N.E.W.T.S. Maybe you can even become an Auror or something, it’d be a very useful gift to have,” Hannah replied kindly. Clara shook her head profusely, her nose scrunching at the thought of working a desk job at the Ministry. “I don’t think I’d like that very much. Can you imagine me, interrogating some…criminal…or something? I think I’d probably burst into tears or something just as pathetic.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Hannah laughed, much to Clara’s joy. “Or you’d let them walk right out the door with a thousand galleons in their pockets and a smile.”

“There’s good in everyone, you know I firmly believe that-”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before…”

“-And besides. Professor Sprout thinks I have a real talent for herbology, or I can work with magical creatures like my dad. I might be better at that.”

Both girls chatted as they walked along the dark hallway, and Clara slipped her robe off as she sighed in exhaustion, laying it over her arm. Distantly, she made out the distinct green ties of a couple of Slytherin fourth- years talking quietly, their figures only cast by the candlelight. Hannah sucked in an anxious breath, her eyes flickering to the ground as they tried to quickly make their way around the group without calling attention to themselves.

“Walk faster,” Hannah whispered. “They can _smell fear_.”

Clara wished Cedric wasn’t still at dinner with some of his Quidditch friends, or she had asked Ernie to walk them to the girl’s dormitories. She didn’t know any Slytherin’s personally, and for all she knew, they could be very nice people…maybe.

But she had seen far too many Hufflepuffs and Gryffindor’s alike get jeered at and teased by the green-clad students, and even though she had never been subjected to their cruel words and even crueler actions (to her face, at least), she wasn’t willing to tempt fate.

Unfortunately, luck was not on her side.

“Oi, Diggory, ‘sthat you?!” yelled a loud, gruff voice. Hannah’s eyes flew open comically, her hand clutching at Clara’s to pull her along faster. She didn’t have to have the world’s weakest case of natural-born legilimency to feel the fear rolling off of her friend as they practically flew down the dark hallway, their black flats padding against the floor in a hurry.

“Diggory! I was talking to you!”

With a choked swallow, Clara stopped in her place and smoothed out the front of her robes and a fragile smile rose to her face. “What are you _doing?!”_ Hannah bit out under her breath, her hand wrenching her arm in the other direction. “It’s fine,” Clara replied weakly. Despite Hannah’s sound of protest, Clara turned around and faced the Slytherin boys.

Clara never went out of her way to send insults or think poorly of some of her peers, but she could confidently say Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were some of the most vile creatures she had ever met. While she luckily only saw them in a few of her classes over the years, she had heard their nasty jokes and insults on many a poor, blameless victim whose very existence was enough of an irritant to rile up both buffoons.

“Vincent,” she said politely. “Did you enjoy your break?”

Crabbe smirked meanly, his nose wrinkling as his face contorted into something venomous. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he towered over the much smaller girl, who made sure to keep a healthy distance as the blonde next to her backed away silently. “Hm,” he said strangely.

Standing there like a fool, Clara wondered why he had called to her in the first place if all he was going to do was stare at her like she was one of the portraits on the wall. Her eyes roamed over to Draco Malfoy, the white-blond boy next to him, who glanced at her before quickly looking away with bored eyes. “…Vincent? Did you need something?” she asked him kindly. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as the strange silence continued.

“Guess holiday’s been good to you, hasn’t it?” he said with a laugh, Goyle stepping up next to him and giving her an appraising look. She could feel both of their eyes glance at her up and down, and goosebumps formed all over her arms as she gave them a tight smile. “Have a good night Vincent, hope you have a good term,” she said quickly, trying to diffuse the awkwardness and leave. Crabbe pouted mockingly, his arms crossing over his chest. “ _C’mon_ , don’t be like that, we’re just havin’ some fun. Aren’t we, Goyle?”

“Yeah, we’re just havin’ a laugh.”

“W-What’s so funny? I… I want to know the joke,” Clara said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. Crabbe’s eyes widened with delight, and he glanced over at Goyle who’s sneer lifted into a cruel smile. “Would you look at that? Badger’s got _claws,”_ Crabbe laughed as Goyle curled his fingers and swiped at her. Clara’s eyes narrowed, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed Draco’s eyes flicker over to hers with an indiscernible expression.

“Sorry there, Diggory,” Crabbe said with an exaggerated sad voice. “We just saw you takin’ off your robes, and we were hoping you’d continue.”

“Yeah, we was just appreciatin’ the view, is all.”

“Don’t need to be such a prude about it.”

Clara blanched, her face paling at the egregious comments as she took a step backwards, and Draco let out an annoyed sigh as he stepped forward from where he was reclining against the wall. “Merlin,” he muttered out angrily. “We’ve got better things to do than waste our time with some bloody Hufflepuffs.” Stalking away with a stiff set to his shoulders, Draco’s eyes rolled in irritation, and with one last sneer, Crabbe and Goyle took off after him.

Clara felt another strong pulling at her arm and looked over to see a panicked Hannah grasping at her sleeve and practically dragging her off to the dormitories. “Why did you _do_ that?! I told you, they can smell fear!”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know what they were going to say, Hannah. I thought it’d be worse if we ran.”

“They looked like they were going to _eat you,_ Clara! Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation? What if…what if…we need to tell Cedric.”

Clara’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “We are _not_ telling Cedric, Hannah! Nothing even happened. Much worse has been said to our housemates, you know that.” Hannah looked at her incredulously, her cheeks flushing with heat as her hands flew up in the air with exasperation. “That’s not exactly encouraging, now is it? You know, these things rarely happen just once! They’re going to do it again, especially because you gave them the reaction they clearly wanted!”

Taking a deep breath, Clara put her hands on the other girl’s shoulders and looked at her seriously. “Hannah,” she told her calmly. “You know if they said anything worse, I can cast one of the nastiest stinging hexes of anyone in our house. Trust me, I’ll tell him if anything else happens, but I can take care of myself. I don’t want to burden Ced with even more responsibilities.”

“My gods, you’re certifiably suicidal,” Hannah left in disbelief, her hand flying up to her forehead and slapping it aggressively. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, isn’t it?! When Crabbe and Goyle decide to roast you over an open fire for a quick snack, don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“That was… a very specific image, Hannah. Do you spend a lot of time thinking about the ways in which Slytherin fourth-year boys would kill me?”

“Well…! I don’t know what those creepy gits do in their free time, besides suck out the souls of children and…and, oh I don’t know, murder pet kneazles, or something!”

Clara smiled at her friend’s theatrics, shooting her a quick grin. “I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not a child, and I don’t have a pet kneazle.”

Hannah glowered at her, and as they approached the outside of the door to the dormitory, stuck her finger in Clara’s face. “This is not _funny,_ Clara Diggory! I am _not laughing!”_

After changing into their night clothes and spending an additional thirty minutes trying to calm a nearly- hysterical Hannah Abbott, Clara lay in her bed and stared up at the ceiling with her hands folded over her stomach. She knew she should probably try and sleep since classes began the next day, but her mind wouldn’t quiet as she thought of her interaction with Crabbe and Goyle.

But more importantly, a part of her thoughts kept roaming back over to the silvery-blonde boy next to them, the notoriously vicious Draco Malfoy. How unlike the ghouls he kept around for some ungodly reason, he didn’t jeer at her like she had seen him do to a number of other wayward students who mistakenly crossed his path. Draco seemed annoyed, like somehow Crabbe and Goyle’s comments were a waste of his time, and she couldn’t help but wonder what made this situation different. Was it because she wasn’t Harry or Hermione or even Ron, or was it the comments themselves? Or was she simply so irrelevant to him, that he didn’t even want to bother with her?

Needless to say, Clara slept restlessly that night.


	3. Life is a Tale Told By an Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV.

Draco Malfoy was many things.

An arsehole at times, self-admittedly. Ambitious, cunning, and intelligent were some of his finer traits; the perfect personality for the ideal Slytherin, if he did say so himself. He was a fine dueler, resourceful and creative with his attacks, and he could be truly ruthless when he wanted to be.

But no one would ever describe him as a “kind” person. Or anything remotely close to that.

One of Draco’s earliest memories that he could recall was a specific instance in which his father had asked him to visit him in one of the lush gardens outside of Malfoy Manor, his tone indiscernible as he invited his eight-year-old son out for an afternoon stroll. Draco had spent an hour in his wardrobe trying to make sure he looked presentable, his hands shaking with nerves as he smoothed out his expensive black slacks once he arrived outside.

They walked slowly and silently, father nor son making any attempt at conversation. Draco remembered feeling the weight of his mother’s worried gaze looking out from the glass panes of the French doors, her mouth pressed into a firm line.

Lucius and his son sat down in the small sitting area, a murky grey pond that was once probably intended as decoration that only now added to the overall depressing feeling of Malfoy Manor. Draco distantly wondered how even a garden full of plants and flowers could seem so lifeless.

A rabbit, a small, brown little thing, hopped its way between a patch of white tulips, and the boy’s eyes flickered over to the animal as its tiny nose twitched. He hadn’t cooed at it, or even stared at it for very long. Draco was just a child and he hadn’t meant to draw any attention to it, but he couldn’t help but think it was such a peculiar sight- to see something so innocent and small caught in a garden that looked much more like a graveyard. Lucius’s gaze followed his son’s, and with a cruel sneer and a wave of his wand, the rabbit levitated in mid-air. 

Draco remembered how the creature shook as it was suspended by magic, it’s kicking legs and wide eyes panicked as if it knew it was ensnared by a predator.

“You see this little rabbit, Draco?” Lucius said flatly, gazing at the squirming animal. “My own father, your grandfather…he once told me that Mudbloods saw them as symbols of fertility. Of _rebirth._ And I thought, how strange for such a monstrous species… to find beauty in something so _weak._ Don’t you agree? _”_

“Yes, father,” Draco said quietly, flinching at his father’s harsh tone. “Very strange.”

He quickly schooled his features as a pair of cold, grey eyes wandered over to him. “Do you know what wizards like you and I, think of rabbits? Of these delicate, frail, helpless little creatures?”

He shook his head. “No, father.” Lucius’s eyes sharpened, and he flashed his son a disappointed glare.

“Draco, my son… _we don’t think of them_. We don’t think of them, because their existence is unimportant to us, to our kind. They are insignificant; another waste of space in a world that is already too crowded with creatures just as wild and dirty as them. One day you will realize… it’s much more of an accomplishment to make prey out of a lion than out of something that won’t even fight back,” the man explained, the rabbit being hoisted higher into the air.

Draco swallowed.

“But one day you will also realize that even though rabbits are a waste of space, a waste of _life itself,_ it’s much easier to get rid of pests when you see them. Which they are, of course. _Pests._ Insolent little animals that are too soft, too weak, to survive in this world. So, it’s best if you dispose of them quickly…it’s merciful, Draco. This world cannot sustain the feeble, the wasted.”

And with those final words, the rabbit’s neck snapped.

A quick squeak turned into dead silence, and the rabbit was lowered to the ground. Draco remembered seeing tiny, black eyes glazed over from its cruel death, staring up at the sky blankly.

Lucius stood up and towered over his son, who was still sitting on another bench adjacent to his. The circles under his eyes were purple and bruised, and his long, white hair contrasted with the darkness in his expression. “You must never be weak, Draco. Malfoys are not _weak._ We do not associate with weakness; with creatures that are _subservient_ to us. You are made of much stronger stuff, my boy. _Snakes do not play with rabbits_.”

Draco had nodded, his face carefully devoid of emotion as he stared at his father. Once he headed back to his room, he vomited in a waste bin and snapped at one of the house elves to get rid of it before anyone else saw.

From that day on, Draco realized there was a natural order to things. Kindness was a fleeting and unnecessary act that attempted to be the great equalizer among all, but what was the point if some people were simply better than others? The blood running through his veins was cold and pure, and anything warmer, anything dirtier, was simply unacceptable. One could use the time and energy needed to be kind on something much more practical, like bending the world around you to your will. 

What was the point in being anything other than the way he was raised to be? This is who he _was._ This was his fate. 

Snakes did not play with rabbits.

* * *

Clara Diggory was not a rabbit.

The Hufflepuff girl, with her stupid, shiny, dark hair and her dumb smile and her atrocious taste in friends, was something much worse. Clara was a _badger._

Draco blames his familiarity with the youngest Diggory on the fact that both siblings, with their dimples and kind eyes and hearty laughs, had made quite the impression on Hogwarts students in every house. It was frankly annoying, how eyes wandered over to the pair like they were walking, talking social magnets. It was infuriating, even.

Cedric Diggory, the oldest child, was a sixth-year prefect and the most talented player on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, not that the competition was particularly steep among the yellow-clad imbeciles. He had a way of making the girls in any room fan their heated faces and bite their lips, and he didn’t even _appreciate_ it. Bloody hell, even _Pansy_ of all people thought he was good looking, the very same Slytherin girl who thought practically everyone at Hogwarts was ugly. Pansy, who tossed around words like “fat” and “atrocious” to describe her peers like Halloween candy, suddenly went quiet and pink-faced when his name was brought up. 

He had interacted with the older boy once and only once, but it was enough to make his insides shrivel as he thought about how he fell off of his broom on the pitch in a Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin scrum. It was humiliating, and his embarrassment was then worsened by the dark, wavy-haired Cedric Diggory in all his handsome, burly glory, who then decided to fly to the ground mid-game and extend a gloved hand out towards him.

_“You alright, mate?” he had asked Draco, not a hint of condescension in his voice despite the easy smile on his face._ _“That looked like one nasty fall.”_

_Draco seethed, his pale grey eyes searching a stormy grey ones for any sign of mirth, and saw none. He didn’t understand what the duffer was doing, stopping mid-play to tend to the enemy. What kind of opportunity was he looking for? Cedric was alright well-liked by nearly anyone with eyes at the bloody school, what was he trying to prove? Why was he pretending that he cared whether or not Draco was okay?_

_Draco pushed the hand away, making a show of wiping at his robes as he rose to his feet on his own. The smile on Cedric’s face flickered for a moment, but it was back before Draco had even registered it had dimmed. “Don’t_ mock _me, you spineless idiot,” the blonde gritted out painfully. “Get back on your broom and stop being a fool so we can wipe the floor with you, like we always do.”_

_Cedric’s eyes looked at him with amusement, making Draco rile with even more self-righteous anger. “Well, you might want to go to Madam Pomfrey in a bit…only after you beat us, of course.” He turned around with a grin and got back on his broom, soaring back into the air._

_And what could he even say to that? Who would poke fun at their own loss?_

_A Hufflepuff trait, surely._

_And if that wasn’t annoying enough, when Draco_ did _see Madam Pomfrey after the match, he couldn’t help but hear a low, baritone voice he recognized all-too well asking the healer if Draco Malfoy from Slytherin had come to see her, and if he was okay._

_Who in the bloody hell did that fool think he was?_

When Draco later talked to one of his closest friends, Blaise, in the library about the incident with the hopes his generally suspicious housemate would agree with him, he was quickly disappointed.

“Those blasted badgers are just the sacrificial type,” Blaise said without even looking up from the book in his large, dark hands. “You know what they always say: Gryffindors will die for you, Hufflepuffs will die with you, Slytherins will kill for you, and Ravenclaws will find a way so no one has to die at all. They are what _they_ are, and we are what _we_ are.”

Needless to say, he didn’t spend much time complaining about Cedric Diggory to anyone else.

Clara Diggory, on the other hand, was a separate issue entirely. Similar, but different.

It all began on that stupid first train ride on the Hogwarts Express three years ago. Draco had been sitting with Theo and Blaise, his fingers clenched tightly into the side of his robe as he glanced out the window nervously. Trying to downplay his anxiety by chattering mindlessly with his childhood friends, they inched closer to the castle that would become his home for the next seven years. He felt his stomach twist.

But Malfoys were never afraid, and so he wasn’t. Not that it mattered if he was, because he’d never admit it regardless.

Draco didn’t notice the disgusting little creature sitting between him and Theo until suddenly, a small girl with dark hair and light eyes practically threw herself in the middle of their little group. Lifting a _toad,_ of all things, into her hands like it was the Quidditch Cup or something nearly as precious, she smiled broadly at a bushy-haired girl behind her. Her grin was slightly too wide and her eyes looked like a stupid little baby crup, and he was in shock that someone would have the nerve to completely disrupt a conversation in such a rude fashion.

Perhaps the most startling thing of all was the fact that when he snapped at the girl, she wasn’t even phased. If anything, she looked confused, and much to his surprise…thanked him, with dimples deeper than canyons digging into her rosy cheeks. She smiled at him warmly, not a sign of malice anywhere on her expression, and Draco just couldn’t understand _why._

Why was she _smiling_ at him? In all eleven years of his lonely little life, he…he didn’t think he’d ever seen someone smile at _him_ like that. Not even his mother, and he knew she loved him dearly.

Draco’s curiosity was quelled later that evening after the Sorting Ceremony as he rolled his eyes at the grin on the girl’s face as her eyes twinkled at the words that boomed around the Great Hall.

_“HUFFLEPUFF!”_

_Of course_ she was a Hufflepuff. The lowest common denominator, the bottom of the totem pole. Father always said they were the least impressive sort, the “leftovers” Hogwarts merely had to take because they were wizards and witches, but not good enough for anything better. In some ways, Hufflepuffs were worse than mudbloods because many of them were pureblooded or something close to it, yet they wasted their purity by sympathizing with the enemy and fraternizing with the dirty-blooded. It was sad, really. He couldn’t imagine getting placed into such an awful house, but the look on the girl’s face looked like she couldn’t have been any happier.

Hufflepuffs weren’t meant to be understood by someone of his position, anyway. Too cowardly, too emotional… that’s why her behavior on the train was confusing to him. Because she was a stupid little badger, and he was a snake. They were on opposite ends of the natural order. 

And then it happened _again._

This girl, who he now knew was named Clara based on the name that was announced during the ceremony, bumped into him rudely once more. Draco wondered if there was something wrong with her, perhaps she had been hit with a leg-locker curse and that’s why she couldn’t seem to walk without causing something short of total disaster.

Just as he had before, he snapped at her. Did she not know who she was bumping into? That he was Draco _Malfoy,_ not just some dirty little rodent like that Weasley boy. There was an _order to things._ As a Hufflepuff, she should understand he was on the top, and she was on the bottom.

But instead, similar to her behavior on the train, Clara acted as if everything malicious spilling from his mouth was nothing more than casual small talk. She didn’t even register his words, and instead _congratulated him_ on being sorted into Slytherin. Draco stood there in disbelief, unable to comprehend how his sharp tone and angry words had been so clearly misinterpreted. They were not friends, they would never be friends, so there was no need to tell him to have a good night or that she’d see him in some of their shared classes.

There was _no reason_ for it.

Draco Malfoy decided Clara was mad. On top of being a Hufflepuff, she was also clearly out of her mind, and if he could feel pity for someone in such a desperate position, he would have. 

Yet, an odd feeling that made his chest feel strange wouldn’t allow him to stop thinking about her. 

* * *

“What in the _fuck_ was that?!” Draco screamed, watching the two blathering morons in front of him look at him in confusion. Crabbe and Goyle looked completely panicked as they tried to point fingers and pin the blame on the other, their eyes wide and feet shifting nervously.

“Oh, c’mon, Malfoy. We thought it was funny.”

“Yeah, we were just tryin’ to rile her up. It was no big deal.”

Draco felt his face heat with anger, his hands clenching by his sides as he looked at his lackies. Dumb as bricks, the both of them. “We don’t… look at me, you dungbrains. We can say whatever we want. But we _don’t_ say shite like _that,_ do you understand?!”

He didn’t understand why he was so upset. He felt fury roaring through his veins and his heart beat faster; his mouth practically pooling with saliva as he felt ready to tear into Shithead One and Two. Maybe it was because he had never… no matter how much of an arsehole he was, Draco had _never_ crossed that boundary. He was a pureblood, and purebloods were never so _uncouth_ as to talk to a woman that way. To say something so suggestive was a sure sign of poor parentage. There were so many ways to humiliate a person without sounding like some common Muggle male.

Or maybe it was because Clara Diggory had come over to them in good faith and challenged both boys in the least confrontational way possible, a move he would have never credited towards someone who had been associated with the house of cowardice over the years. The blonde Hufflepuff girl she was always with, the Abbott girl from the high-society family… Henrietta or whatever her name was, looked like she was ready to completely flee.

But Clara had stared Crabbe and Goyle right in the eyes, her voice wavering and betraying her nerves, but unrelenting all the same.

Maybe it was because the way her face blanched caused something to sink into his stomach like a sour batch of butterbeer, an emotion he had seldom felt in his fourteen years of life and wasn’t willing to put a name to.

Crabbe looked at him suspiciously, his eyes narrowed at the pale blonde. “What’s it matter to you, anyway? She’s just some Hufflepuff crackpot, it’s not like she matters.”

Draco bared his teeth at him, his pale, grey eyes meeting muddy brown ones. He was grateful he had a growth spurt over the summer, finally meeting Crabbe and Goyle eye to eye. “Are you bloody questioning me, Crabbe? You’ve got something you’d like to say to me?”

The protest in the larger boy’s expression stayed only for a moment longer, before an embarrassed ruddy pink filled his cheeks and he shook his head. “Nah,” he bit out. “Just wonderin’, is all.”

“Ask me something that bloody stupid again, you dunderhead. You and I _both_ know who’ll win that one,” Draco gritted between his teeth, his face murderous with inexplicable rage. He turned to the other boy, watching a square jaw clench at his words. “Goyle? You’ve got anything you’d like to add?”

Goyle shook his head tentatively.

“Good. I’m only going to tell both of you tossers this _once._ You do as _I_ say. If I say “no,” you better listen. When you say shite like that, it looks bad on _me,_ and if I look bad, I’ll make sure you look worse. Pull that again, and I swear to Merlin himself you’ll find snakes under your sheets every single night of fourth year. Got it?”

Both boys begrudgingly agreed.

With a quick wipe of his hands, Draco glared at both of them and left them to walk into his dormitory, feeling the weight of their shocked gazes on his back as he stalked into his room. He knew Crabbe and Goyle had the brain capacity of a couple of jellyfish, but it seemed like the older they got, the dumber they became.

The only sound in the dark room was the clicking of his expensive leather oxfords hitting the stone floor, his eyes still brimming with disgust. Theo sat up against his headboard, a book in hand as he looked at Draco with a blank expression. “That sounded fun,” he said in a bored tone, turning a page with a smirk. “When do _I_ get a turn to pin the tail on one of the two arses? I’ve been waiting _so_ patiently.”

“Shut up, Nott,” Draco spat, his hands rummaging through his drawers for his night clothes. “Stupid cows, the both of them. Mouthing off like that.”

“Ooh, what’d they say? Not that I care, obviously… I just like seeing you all pissy and scowling like this, Malfoy. It helps me sleep better at night,” Theo said excitedly, his smirk widening as he waved his wand and sent his book back into the drawer of his nightstand.

“Made some bloody crass comments at… at that Diggory girl. It was foul, even for a couple of dim-witted gits,” Draco explained, his voice forcefully even. “Like listening to a couple of low-class blokes in Knockturn Alley.”

Theo sent him a knowing look, his eyebrow raised as his face morphed into something unamused. “Hm,” he said dryly.

With his mouth pursed into a firm line, Draco flashed his eyes at the dark-haired boy, his lips curling into a sneer. “Oh, what is it, you prat?” he snapped. It was enough his own lackies had the nerve to question him, now one of his oldest friends was judging him? Clearly everyone around him had forgotten who they were so lucky to be friends with over this last summer, and Draco would have to remind them who he was.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me. You obviously have something you’d like to get off of your mind.”

Theo tilted his head at him, his eyes grim as he stared at his friend with a slightly smug look on his face. “Just didn’t realize you’d care about some random Hufflepuff, Malfoy. Seems… beneath you.”

Draco’s face heated with anger once again, his shoulders stiffening as he slammed the dresser drawer closed with a quick door-closing charm. “I have _standards,_ Nott. Maybe you should try having some of your own. You might even find yourself tolerable to other people if you did.”

“Are you pissy because you have standards, or is it because Crabbe and Goyle embarrassed you in front of _Diggory_?” Theo asked him with a biting tone. “You’re more obvious than you think, you know.”

“Have you completely lost the plot, Theodore?!” Draco snarled out. “Calling me obvious, when you stare at Zabini’s arse like it’s a glass of water in a desert.”

Theo’s face flushed and he quickly glanced away, and Draco leered at him. “Don’t get too cocky, Nott. I’d hate to tell your _best friend_ some of the things I hear you say in the loo.”

“You… You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Theo… _don’t I_?”

Draco sent him one last huff, feeling satisfied he had proved his superiority once more before the evening was out. It was going to be a long fourth year, if his friends were proving to be this insolent. He crawled into his bed and slammed his head back into the goose-feather pillow, his eyes fluttering closed as he willed himself to dream about good things, like green apples and arithmancy class and getting an O on his first exam in the next few weeks.

He didn’t think _at all_ about what Theo said, or about how he didn’t feel like he could deny it. 

* * *

Draco loved potions.

Like his affinity for arithmancy, he loved the practicality and the straight- forwardness of being able to anticipate a precise result if he did everything correctly. Perfection might not be attainable, but _this_ was as close as he’d ever get _._ The art of measuring and balancing and problem-solving in order to achieve what he desired. The opportunity to prove his intelligence and training to his peers by constantly excelling in his courses gave him a feeling of satisfaction he didn’t know if he’d ever feel with anything else.

But fourth- year was already proving to be difficult, not only with his friends, but with his academics. Draco had a year before O.W.L.s and career matching, and he still felt at a complete loss as to what kind of future he wanted to pursue. His father wanted nothing more than for his son to get into politics the way the men in the Malfoy family had for generations, but deep inside, he could feel his lips curl at the prospect of cozying up to a bunch of corrupt arseholes every day.

Unfortunately, autonomy and choice were not familiar concepts to the Malfoy heirs. His father, grandfather, and every man before him had all entered the political arena with the goal of furthering the protection and traditions of the pure-blooded. His parents had set forth a very specific expectation of who Draco was to become, what he was intended to do as the inheritor of the Malfoy name and fortune.

Despite this, Draco had decided to take arithmancy and ancient runes anyway. He couldn’t have been more thrilled at the challenge, and his father had even hired him a tutor over the summer to give him an advantage over the other students when he arrived at Hogwarts this term. But because of the timing of his classes, he was being forced to attend his least favorite class with his least favorite people.

Herbology. With Hufflepuffs.

Unlike potions, herbology was practically a foreign language to Draco. Nothing ever seemed to be exact or precise; it seemed as though you either had a talent for it or you didn’t. As a person who rarely did less than “outstanding” in any course, this was incredibly frustrating because there were no guarantees he would do well in the plant-based class. It was all guesswork and intuition, neither of which were skills Draco possessed, and Professor Sprout _definitely_ disliked Slytherins.

Perhaps not all Slytherins, but Sprout didn’t like _him,_ and it was enough for Draco to raise his nose at her and her stupid class and her stupid fungi. Luckily, he still had some time to mull over his impending doom over the weekend since he wouldn’t have Herbology until Monday afternoon.

“What are you thinking about?” Pansy piped up next to him, her hand lightly waving a spoon covered in mashed potatoes in the air. Draco broke from his thoughts, blinking as he looked up at her. He realized he had barely even touched his dinner, his mind roaming to the new stresses fourth- year was presenting to him before it really even started. As Pansy spun the spoon around, a splat of mashed potato landed on the corner of his plate, much to his annoyance.

“I’m thinking about how ashamed your mother and father must be, knowing they raised a _slob_ for a daughter,” he gritted out, his eyes flickering to Pansy’s mess. Pansy merely rolled her eyes and made a great deal of shoving the spoon in her mouth, licking it noisily as she gave him a piercing gaze. “Oh, come off it, Draco,” she said with a whine. “Tell _Mummy Pansy_ what’s wrong.”

Draco’s face contorted into discomfort, the corner of his lip raising in disgust. “Don’t _ever_ refer to yourself as my mother in any fashion ever again, Parkinson. At most, you’re more like the family dog.”

“A cute one, I hope.”

“No, just some old, grey-faced pug that’s seen better days. Now mind your own business and finish your scraps.” 

Pansy’s expression soured, but just before she was about to retort with something Draco already knew wouldn’t be as clever as any witty remark of his own, Blaise cut them off with a hand fluttering towards them to catch their attention. “Will both of you shut up, already? _Merlin._ It’s like listening to a couple of rats fighting over the last bite of cheese,” he said with an exasperated sigh. Theo’s mouth ticked upwards in a smile, and he lazily drank from his glass as he glanced at him with knowing eyes.

“I think Draco’s a little… _frustrated_ , wouldn’t you say so, my friend?” Theo asked in a faux- concerned voice. “He just needs some good, old-fashioned love and attention, I’d say…but from _who,_ I wonder? Perhaps- “

With a flash, Draco pressed his index finger against the glass of pumpkin juice next to his plate, spilling the orange liquid all over Theo who sat across the table. The dark- haired boy looked down at his soaked lap with horror, standing up abruptly as he glowered at the blonde, but Draco merely met him with a raised eyebrow and his infamous smirk. “What the _fuck,”_ Theo snapped, his hand reaching for a cloth napkin to dab at his wet robes. “This is _poplin fabric,_ you berk.”

“Oh, well. How unfortunate. An accident… you understand, surely?” 

“You have such _interesting timing,_ Malfoy, it’s almost as if- “

“I have nothing to hide. But perhaps, you’d like to speak to Blaise…?”

Blaise and Pansy looked up at both angry boys with confusion, and Pansy cast a quick _“Tergeo”_ spell to remove the growing stain from Theo’s expensive, black finery. “What are you both going on about? And Draco, are you in need of some _company?_ Because I can always- “

“None of your business, and _no,”_ he bit out. “Right Theo?”

The brunette nodded his head once, reluctant to dismiss the matter at hand as he sat back down with fiery eyes and an upturned nose. Letting out an undignified harrumph, he folded his arms across his chest and pushed his plate away from him.

Suddenly, Dumbledore got to his feet and looked around the Great Hall, seizing all of the mindless dinner chatter effectively as he looked out at his students.

“Well, now that we’re all fed and settled in, I’d like to make an announcement,” he boomed, the deep, crackling tenor of his voice echoing around the walls as students from every house turned to look up at him.

“Mr. Filch, our caretaker, would like for me to remind you all that the lists of objects forbidden inside has been extended to several new items. The full list can be viewed in his office. I would also like to remind you all that the forest outside of Hogwarts is out-of-bounds to all students, and Hogsmeade is only permitted for third- years and above.”

“This is so _boring,”_ Pansy whined next to him, her hand flying up to curl around one of Draco’s white-blonde locks as he slapped her fingers away. “Why do _we_ have to sit through this? Why didn’t they just cover this last night, at the Sorting Ceremony?”

“Can you please close your Venus Flytrap of a mouth, Pansy?” Draco whispered. “I’d rather listen to some raggedy old man than listen to you, right now.”

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will be suspended this year.”

Groans and complaints of students erupted from all corners of the dining hall, and Dumbledore cut them all off with an even stare. Draco felt his heart sink into his stomach, his eyes sharpening into an infuriated glare as he looked at the old man at the podium. “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy- but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-“

Suddenly, the headmaster was interrupted by the loud sound of the doors of the Great Hall being opened, and all of the attention once paid to him on the stage now flashed over to the source of the noise.

“Who the fuck is _that?”_ Blaise asked bewilderedly. A man with a walking stick, a dirty brown coat, and long, gray, frizzy hair limped inside through the entrance. His face was in what seemed like a permanent scowl, and the lightning from the rainstorm outside cast a frightening shadow on his intimidating presence.

“What’s wrong with his face?” Theo chimed in with a hushed voice.

Upon closer examination, Draco noticed his face looked weathered and worn, not unlike old leather. He had scars all over his skin, and most noticeably, an artificial eye strapped to his skull that wandered around the room crazily. He looked positively ghastly.

With a swig from a flask on the inside of his coat, the man walked over and took a seat in one of the empty chairs at the head professor’s table. Without even casting a second glance to his silent audience, he started piling food onto a plate and the only sound in the hall was the scratching of his utensils against the plate in front of him.

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody!” Dumbledore announced proudly.

The room remained quiet, and if Draco wasn’t so perturbed by the overall beastly appearance of someone who was apparently going to be his new instructor, he would have snickered. Dumbledore cleared his throat to regain focus, seemingly just as flabbergasted as everyone else.

“As I was saying,” he said with a smile. “We are to have the honor of hosting a legendary event over the coming months, an event that has not been held in over a century. The Triwizard Tournament will be held at Hogwarts this year. The Triwizard Tournament was established hundreds of years ago, and brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school, a single student is selected to compete. Now let me be clear: if chosen _, you stand alone_. And trust me when I say, these contests are not for the faint-hearted. The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their list of contenders in October, and three champions will be selected on Halloween.”

Draco stiffened, his back straightening and his shoulders pushed back confidently as a smirk rose to his face. “A champion, hm?” he said under his breath. “They’d be stupid to pick anyone _but_ me.” Pansy looked over at him, a wry smirk twisting her features.

“Based on what? You’re less-than- stellar track record at Quidditch, or your lack of fighting abilities, or- “

“Shut it, Pansy.”

“I know all of you will be eager to participate in the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, and I have no doubt that all of you could,” Dumbledore said carefully. “Eternal glory awaits the student who wins the tournament. However, this means the student must survive three extremely dangerous tasks. For this reason, the Ministry and the heads of participating schools have decided to impose an age restriction on contenders. Only students that are seventeen years or older will be allowed to put their names in for consideration.”

And just like that, Draco’s hopeful mood disappeared and instead, he was filled with withering anger brimming underneath the surface of his skin. The Quidditch Cup would be stolen from him, and now he wasn’t even allowed to enter the stupid competition that took it away in the first place? What was he supposed to do all year, sit around and talk to the portraits in the hallway? Protests from the Weasley twins and other underaged students rose to a moderate volume across every table, and Draco felt satisfied that others in his year, including Harry fucking Potter, would _all_ have to sit out.

If he couldn’t participate, he didn’t want anyone else to be able to, either.

Dumbledore stared at his furious students with a glower. “ _Silence!”_ he thundered out. The room was silent once again.

“We feel this is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will be difficult and dangerous despite precautions. The death toll has been insanely high for the past few successful Triwizard Cups, and we would like to do our very best to ensure the relative safety of all participants,” he explained. With a wave of his wand, a golden tower next to him melted down into what appeared to be a large, golden chalice, and with another unspoken spell, blue flames erupted from the top of the cup.

“Anyone wishing to submit themselves into the tournament need only write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it in the flame before this hour of next Thursday. If chosen… there is _no_ _turning back_.”

With a nod, he stepped away from the podium and took a seat back at the professor’s tables, and the chatter amongst the students rose once again.

“Well that’s a bit bloody unfair, isn’t it?” Blaise grumbled, his fork scratching at his plate heatedly as Pansy pressed her hands over her ears at the sound. “Only seventeen and older. Blimey, I’m sure there’s sixth and seventh- years who can barely spell their name. But _I’m_ not allowed to put my name in?”

Theo nodded in agreement. “Why can’t there just be a test, or something? I mean, how do they know I’m not ready for a tournament like that? Also, I wasn’t aware seventh- years had a higher chance of survival. Seems a bit ageist to me.”

Pansy shrugged uncaringly, her spoon still twirling in lazy circles above the table as her elbow dug into the wood. “I don’t really care either way,” she said blandly. “Who wants to risk everything for a stupid _prize_? Sorry, I value my life.”

“ _What_ life?” Draco interrupted without even thinking, much to his own amusement and Pansy’s frustration. She swatted at his shoulder with a sharp hit of her hand. “Don’t get pissy with me because the old man made _poor wittle Draco all sad,”_ she bit out, her voice taking on a babyish- tone as she looked at his pale, grey eyes.

“It’s not like I care about the bloody prize,” he retorted. “But I might as well get to throw in my hand if they’re going to take away the entire Quidditch Cup. How unfair is that? We just have to…sit and watch a bunch of seventh-year buffoons fight it out while I spend my time with what, exactly?”

Theo looked at him with a wolfish grin, his eyes narrowing as he leaned over the table. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find someone… I mean, _something,_ to fill the time with.” Blaise rose a curious eyebrow.

“And I’m sure you’ll find someone to fill _you,_ arsehole.”

Theo’s face flushed embarrassedly, and Draco felt his heckles calm at the sight of another successful verbal battle. He really didn’t understand why people even tried to argue with him anymore.

Didn’t they know he’d _always_ win?

“Boys, let’s keep the testosterone to a minimum. I’m still trying to digest my food,” Pansy complained as she picked up her glass, swirling the cold pumpkin juice around like it was a fine Merlot. “Look, let’s just forget about this tournament shite and feel bad for whichever poor bloke gets picked.”

“Why would I feel _bad?”_ Draco questioned. “Whoever gets chosen is going to be a literal _legend.”_

“Because, Draco. Dying in something as dumb as some tournament in a half-arsed attempt to prove yourself seems like an awfully tragic way to go. I mean, really. Getting killed at seventeen? What a _waste of a life_.”

And with that, their little group headed out of the Great Hall and to the Slytherin dorms to turn in for the night. Draco wasn’t much in the mood for talking, his mind roaming elsewhere as Blaise and Theo flirted far-too obviously for his taste and Pansy rambled on about the new DADA professor. He couldn’t even bring himself to care about the conversation, and as he yawned and thought about his upcoming classes in the next week, his eyes flickered to something at the corner of his eye.

Two shadows, ducked behind a corner on the way out of the main exit to the dorms. One was much taller than the other, and even though the noise of students chit-chatting was too loud for him to hear what they were saying, Draco was still intrigued. 

With a curious furrowing of his eyebrows, he glanced over as nonchalantly as he could. Draco was nosy, but not a complete idiot, and he definitely didn’t want to call any unnecessary attention to himself.

A girl with long, brown-black hair with her arms crossed over her chest, and a boy whose skin and hair were just as pale and dark as hers, stood closely as they spoke in hushed tones. The boy looked determined; his shoulders set in something defiant as the girl leaned into him almost pleadingly.

Cedric and Clara Diggory. What an interesting coincidence.

An interesting coincidence, indeed.

With wide-eyes and a sense of renewed intrigue, Draco distanced himself from his friends as he walked over to the wall. Neither sibling could see him around the corner, and he bent down as if he was tying his shoe. He realized he looked suspicious to anyone who looked at him too closely since an untied shoelace could be easily fixed with a quick, elementary-level charm, but he hoped that his retreat into the shadows cast by the torch above him was able to hide him just enough to keep prying eyes away from him. 

Leaning in as closely as possible, he tried to pick up on the conversation.

_“…died, Cedric, do you understand…”_

_“…I think I could really win, Clara…”_

_“…dangerous, what if…”_

_“Nothing’s going to… you support me? I need…”_

“You complete and total idiot.”

The voice startled him from his crouch, and Draco immediately launched up onto his feet.

Theo stood across him, a knowing smirk on his face. “I saw you. Had to make sure you wouldn’t get caught, you prat.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Draco spat out quietly. “I was just tying my shoe.”

“ _Mhmm.”_

“I don’t owe _you_ any explanation, Theodore.”

“Sure, sure.”

Draco was about to whip out an insult, but the shadows from his peripheral vision cleared away and both Diggory siblings walked out from their hideout around the corner. Cedric was still staring at his sister, whose face had morphed into an expression Draco didn’t think quite fit her face. Both duos nearly bumped into each other as Draco and Theo tried to retreat as quickly as possible, and Cedric looked up at them in alarm. “Oh, sorry,” the handsome, dark-haired boy apologetically with red cheeks and an embarrassed smile. “Have a good night, mate.”

_Mate,_ Draco thought mockingly to himself. _Wouldn’t be calling me that if you knew I was trying to listen in on your conversation, would you?_

Theo saw the notorious Malfoy scowl appear on his friend’s face, and immediately stepped in. “No worries, yeah?” he said casually, his eyes never leaving Draco’s. “You have a nice night, too.”

Theodore Nott had always had that cunning, slick Slytherin charm, but even Draco could tell he was laying it on pretty thick. With a nod and a slight grin, he grabbed Draco’s shoulder and started pulling him away, his grasp unrelenting as they took off towards the Slytherin dormitories.

* * *

That night, as Draco rolled around in his silk sheets and stared up at the ceiling high above him, he found himself replaying the conversation over and over again in the hopes he’d see something he didn’t see before. Some kind of information to quell his inner curiosity as he wondered what the Diggory siblings needed to talk about so urgently that they needed to speak in the dark shadows of one of the walls outside the Great Hall.

But somehow, he found himself distracted.

Because all he could think of was Clara Diggory’s unusually pale, stricken expression as they parted ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, please leave a comment and a kudos if you can!! I am very interested to hear what you all have to say. I am really really happy with how this story is coming along, so please let me know what you think!


	4. Give Thy Thoughts No Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave a review! I am so grateful for the one's you have all left behind already- please let me know what you think!

**Flashback, Night of the Quidditch World Cup**

_“Oh, thank Merlin himself,” Siobhan Diggory exclaimed with teary eyes._

_Her husband and her son trudged up the stone pathway with ashen faces; their mouths twisted in an uncharacteristic display of worry as Amos adjusted the straps of the rucksack on his shoulders. “Oh, Bon- Bon dear, don’t cry!” he cooed as he wrapped his wife in a tight hug, not caring about the heavy weight pulling on his lower back. “We’re perfectly fine, right Ced? We got out, just in time.”_

_Siobhan pulled her son forward and into a tight embrace, her hands roaming over his face and shoulders as she checked him for injuries. “Cedric, my love? Are you okay?” she asked worriedly. “You look paler than a ghost! Oh darling, you’re in desperate need of a strong cuppa. Yes, some tea and biscuits will fix you right up, bring a little color to those cheeks!”_

_Cedric gave her a weary smile and nodded. “I’m alright,” he assured. “Just a bit tired, is all. And a little nervous for the Weasleys- I hope they got out of there.”_

_“I’ll floo over there now, just to check in,” Amos declared, already heading over to the fireplace and filling his hand with green powder. Siobhan’s face morphed into one of concern, and she clasped her hands together as she followed after him._

_“Oh Amos, can’t this wait ‘till tomorrow? Sweetheart, won’t you just sit for some tea and-!”_

_“I need to check on Arthur and the kids, Bon-Bon. Need to ask Molly if she knows what’s gone on. I’ll be back soon, my love, I promise!” he said determinedly. With a quick toss and a close of his eyes, he was gone._

_Clara practically tripped down the stairs into the front room, her eyes red-rimmed as she held a piece of parchment in her hands, shaking in fear. “Cedric!” she breathed out with relief, running over to him as fast as her feet would allow._

_Turbulent grey eyes met a matching pair, and she launched himself into his arms. “Oh my gods, what happened?! Are you okay? Is everyone else okay?!”_

_Cedric closed his eyes as he took comfort in his little sister’s tight squeeze, allowing it to ground him as his mind stayed scattered in a million different directions. “I… really don’t know, honestly. Dad and I were packing up camp, and all of the sudden it was as if war had broken out on the grounds. But…I’m alright. Dad’s gone to check in on the Weasleys.”_

_“Do… do you think it was…”_

_“I dunno,” Cedric sighed tiredly. “Everything was so chaotic… everyone was screaming, running in opposite directions… we practically flew out of there like a pair of bats out of Salazar’s tomb.”_

_Clara looked at him, shaking her head in disbelief as she allowed her breathing level out. After hearing about the devastating news on the WWN, she had been an absolute mess for hours, awaiting the arrival of her father and brother as she paced around her bedroom. She couldn’t bear to be in the presence of the high-running emotions of her mother, feeling them just as much as she felt her own._

_Even the presence of Hannah’s owl, Wobbles, couldn’t comfort her as he flew in through her window with an urgent check-in message from her best friend._

_“That must have been terrible, Ced, I’m… I’m so sorry, I wish I knew what to say. I’m…I’m so glad you’re alright,” she said truthfully. He ran a hand through his hair, his face looking worn as he nodded. “I am, too. I… I hope everyone is. I just can’t believe it…”_

_“What can I do? Do you need anything?” Clara insisted, her hands still grasping at her brother’s arms as she dragged him over to the kitchen table. “Tea? Biscuits? Something else?”_

_“Just water. Please.”_

_She poured him a glass, her hands still shaking with nerves as she pushed it over to him. Cedric drank it greedily, dehydrated after sprinting to the portkey as fast as he could._

_Later that night, as both Diggory siblings sat at the top of the stairs and eavesdropped on their parents’ conversation down in the sitting room, Clara’s eyes widened as she picked up on words like “Death Eaters” and “fire” and “explosion.” She felt shock flooding her senses as she listened to their hushed voices, the realization that her brother and father just escaped what could have been a much more tragic situation if they had been any slower._

_If they hadn’t been lucky._

_Looking up at his sister, Cedric’s eyebrows furrowed and he bumped her shoulder to catch her attention. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, her expression carefully blank as he frowned. “Are_ you _alright?” he asked her quietly._

_“I… I don’t know,” Clara whispered. “I’m so relieved you’re safe. I… I was so scared, Cedric. I suppose… I suppose I was just anticipating the worst, and I couldn’t help but think… what if…what if- “_

_“Don’t,” her brother interrupted, taking a deep breath. “I’m okay, Clara. Don’t think about anything like that; I’m safe and sound. We…we should just try to put the night behind us, okay?”_

_She swallowed thickly. “You’re my brother, Ced. I can’t help it. I… I don’t know what I would do- “_

_Reaching for her hand, he tugged at her fingers and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”_

_As she allowed herself to be wrapped in the warm, comforting safety of her brother’s emotions, Clara did as best as she could to suppress the nagging feeling tugging at the back of her skull._

_The feeling that things were not going to be alright, that tonight’s events were not a random act of violence, but the beginning of something much, much worse._

* * *

**Present Day**

Clara felt like she was going to throw up.

The minute Dumbledore sat back down in his large, ornate chair with the rest of the Hogwarts professors, she felt her stomach flip and her heart sink as she watched Cedric’s eyes light up.

_Extremely dangerous, he said,_ Clara thought to herself. _High death toll for the past few tournaments. Difficult and dangerous._

She didn’t need to be a Legilimens to know what her brother was thinking. His posture straightened as he listened to their headmaster, his eyes searching and curious as his mouth tilted up at the corners in excitement.

Cedric had always loved a challenge.

Despite the eager lilt to his body language and the distinct, eager sparkle in his smile, she found herself searching his mind without even really trying. Cedric’s thoughts and feelings were some of the clearest Clara had ever come across, a feat that was impressive in itself since she could barely concentrate and put enough effort to listen to anyone’s at all. Cedric’s mind was the first she had ever understood, and now she could read him just as easily as she could read a book.

If there was one thing Clara hated about her skill more than anything, it was that when she could actually decipher what she was feeling as she gained entry into the emotions and occasionally, the passing thoughts of the people around her, it was like opening a door and finding yourself in a labyrinth of passages and secret chambers. She had no direction, no idea where to go, and poking around always made her afraid she wouldn’t be able to leave. People’s thoughts were rarely a linear stream of thinking, and they passed too quickly for her to absorb, even as a natural-born.

But when it came to Cedric, his mind was like Hogsmeade- a little village filled with familiar cottages and shops. There were still closed doors and long, winding streets, but she felt warm and invited; she knew everything around her and where she was going. She didn’t feel scared, like she was about to plunge into the dark, cold ocean without knowing how to swim. In fact, sometimes she wished she could just soak in her brother’s thoughts for a while, feeling as safe and secure as a child in a warm blanket when she roamed around his feelings. He didn’t have a negative bone in his body, not a single mean or cruel emotion anywhere in that awfully large head of his.

So as Clara sat with her hands in her lap as she tuned everything out and slipped into the calming, low thrum of Cedric’s emotions, she felt his optimism and the low-level grade of nervousness she often acquainted with how he felt before a big Quidditch game. He was yearning for the opportunity; the hopeful expectation of winning had sewn itself into his decision, into his self-confidence.

He was preparing.

He wanted in.

The rest of dinner went by quietly, her throat feeling slightly too- tight for comfort. It was like she had a vice wrapped around her neck, anxiety clawing at her chest as she watched Cedric exchange glances with some of his Quidditch friends in excited anticipation.

“Ced,” she said, her eyes flickering to meet a matching pair as they walked out of the Great Hall. “Can I talk to you?”

With a furrowed brow, he nodded and followed after her as she ducked right out of the line of vision from the hallway. Turning around a shadowy corner, she hugged herself tightly as she looked at her brother’s face. His expression settled into something grave as he searched her face. “What’s wrong?”

Clara cleared her throat of the emotional lump that sat there, stuck in the back of her mouth as if it was trying to prevent her from speaking. “You know what I’m going to say,” she wavered. He huffed in confusion. “I’m not _you,_ Clara. I don’t know what’s on your mind the way you know what’s on mine.”

“The Triwizard Competition,” she breathed out.

“Yes? What about it?”

With a deep breath, she steadied herself as she looked at him. “Please… _please_ don’t do it. Don’t put your name in.”

His face fell in realization, and his mouth flattened into a straight line. “Clara…”

“I know, okay?” she whispered vehemently. “I know its selfish of me to ask you not to. But… but it’s _dangerous,_ Cedric.”

Cedric met her gaze with a patient smile, nodding his head. “I know,” he told her. “I know what Dumbledore said, but… but I want to do it. I want to, and… and I’m going to put my name in the goblet.”

_No,_ she thought to herself. _No, just stay out of it. Stay_ safe.

Clara’s face spasmed in anguish, in desperation. “Are you kidding me? Why?”

“Because it’s a chance to prove myself.”

With a lost expression, she threw her hands up in exasperation next to her. “Are you…what are you _saying_? Explain this to me, Ced. Why are you willing to…to take such a big _risk_?”

Something sad passed over his face, but he still looked at her with a small grin. His dark hair waves seemed to glisten in the embers of the torch light, and his stormy eyes squinted as he looked at his sister. “Listen to me,” he said gently. “I… I’m not like _you,_ Clara. I’m not… I’m not special like you, I’m not… _passionate_ about things like you are, I wasn’t born with any cool talents, I don’t... I’m good at academics, and I’m good at Quidditch… but I suppose I don’t really have much else, do I?”

Clara looked around her warily, hoping no one heard his words. How could he think he wasn’t special? Didn’t he know how much people loved him, how many people wanted to _be_ him? “Cedric, you _are_ special. You’re the most _amazing_ and _wonderful_ person I know, you’re good at _everything_ …don’t you know that? Don’t you understand how much you mean to all of us, to Mum and Dad and me and Cho and your team… you are so, _so_ special to all of us. You don’t need a competition to prove that to anyone.”

“Then let me prove that to _myself._ I… let me believe I’m special. Let me _have_ this,” he said quietly, his expression glimmering with hope.

“He said people _died,_ Cedric. Do you understand what that means? If… if people have literally lost their lives over this bloody competition, what if… what if…?”

He grasped her by the shoulders, his eyes lowered into hers as he exhaled noticeably. “I… I’m not saying this because I’m taking any of this lightly, okay? But… but this is my chance to show everyone what I’m made of. That I’ve made of the stronger stuff. I’m not just some soft, weak little Hufflepuff... I think…maybe there’s a chance I could really win, Clara. Wouldn’t that be amazing? If… If I won something like this?”

Clara shrugged him off, ignoring the hurt that flared up in his eyes at her action. “I don’t _need_ amazing, Cedric. I… I need you not to be hurt, I need you to be _safe._ You’re the only brother I’ve got _,_ Cedric. After the World Cup… I was so scared, I… I don’t know how to be alright with this. That you’re _willingly_ putting yourself in a situation that’s nothing less than dangerous _…_ what if you get hurt? Or worse?”

“I’m not asking you to be “alright” with my decision, okay? I’d never force you to be okay with something you don’t agree with. But I’m almost a real adult, now. My graduation ceremony is at the end of next year, and… I want to do something important while I’m still here. Something that shows I was here, that people can remember about me, if nothing else,” Cedric replied softly, his eyebrows raising in a silent plea.

“That is… terribly Gryffindor of you.”

“Well, you know where the Sorting Hat almost put me. Maybe… maybe I can prove to everyone that other houses don’t have the claim on bravery, on wits and tenacity. I’m a Hufflepuff, but it doesn’t mean I’m not brave, too.”

Clara took a deep breath, her arms still wrapped around her tightly as if she was trying to hold herself up. She never wanted any less for her brother than for him to have everything he wanted, everything he could ever ask for. But this? He was asking for the world, and she didn’t know how to give that to him without giving up a little part of herself, too.

_Please,_ his voice rang out in her head. _Please have my back. You’re my sister. I love you. I need you, I need you to allow me to want this._

Faltering with her words, Clara played with a long lock of her hair, examining the ends of it with her fingertips as she looked away from him. “Clara,” he said seriously. “They haven’t even pulled the names out. I haven’t even put my name _in,_ yet. I mean… there’s no way to guarantee it’ll be me, it could be any other sixth or seventh- year. The chances are so low for me, anyway… don’t you think you could be here for me, on this? I… I probably won’t even get selected.”

His voice was somber and a little sad as he spoke, and she searched his eyes once again only to be met with the same promising expression he wore before. Cedric was being truthful, she knew that he too realized that the odds were stacked against him in terms of having his name picked from the goblet for the tournament. Surely, Clara could have his back in this decision since there was such a small chance of him getting chosen. 

Couldn’t she?

“I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you. Of you putting yourself in harm’s way,” she told him honestly. The thought of her brother taking such a big chance on something that was so miniscule in the grand scheme of things made her eyes prickle.

“Well, if you love me, you’ll support me, Clara,” Cedric whispered gently. He didn’t say anything else, and she closed her eyes at the earnestness in his voice.

Her brother would support her if their positions were swapped, she didn’t doubt that for a minute. He had held her hand through what were some of her most nerve-wracking moments. When had she ever been given the opportunity to do the same?  
  


With a deep-winded exhale, her shoulders slackened and she shook her head.

“Then… “ Clara sighed exhaustedly. “…I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I?”

Her voice was filled with reluctance and resignation, but a forced smile pushed at her lips as Cedric’s face filled with gratitude. He extended a palm out towards his little sister, pulling her by the shoulder as he wrapped her in a tight hug. “Let’s just worry about if it happens, alright?” he told her. “Nothing’s been decided yet. We’ll take it step by step.”

With a rough hand, he rubbed at the top of her skull, making a mess of her hair in a way he only ever did when they were small since he knew it would irritate her. She lightly slapped his hands away, laughing lightly as his face lit up. “Love you, Clara,” he said with a smile.

“Love you too, you prat.”

They parted and with a nod, they left to head back to the Hufflepuff dormitories, the tension filling the air disappearing as she turned on her heel. Cedric flashed her a smile, a silent way of communicating, _“See? Was that so hard? You won’t regret it, Clara. I promise you.”_

She could only hope that she wouldn’t.

Her thoughts came to a crashing halt as she nearly collided with two figured clad in their dark black robes, and Clara’s eyes zeroed in on two sets of green ties. “Oh, sorry,” Cedric told them sincerely.

Clara’s eyes met a pair of ice-cold grey ones, a pair of eyes such an unfamiliar pale shade of grey, they almost looked silver.

The eyes of one Draco Malfoy.

And by the looks of it, Theodore Nott was tagging along as well. 

Despite the run-in she had with him yesterday when he was hanging out with his gang of hooligans, she hadn’t been physically close enough to the boy to get a clear look at him. Draco’s white blonde hair had grown over the holiday, and it was obvious he had also shot up a few inches in height.

They stared at each other, exchanging intense gazes as Clara felt her cheeks flood with warmth in embarrassment. Draco’s eyes quickly averted to Cedric.

“No worries yeah?” Theodore told them, his normally small grin settling into something wolfish, a smile that looked knowing and confident than the slight upturn of his mouth she had seen him exchange with his friends in DADA class in years past. “You have a nice night, too.”

Cedric smiled at him, and even if it was indiscernible to the Slytherin boys in front of her, she could see his tense shoulders relaxing at the lack of confrontation. It was no secret that Malfoy and the rest of his house had a vehement hatred for anyone who belonged to any of the other three Hogwarts houses, but this interaction lacked the anger and vexation she was used to seeing. Inwardly, she felt a bit relieved, too.

Her brother may have had a Gryffindor attitude when it came to competing, but he was very much a Hufflepuff when it came to interpersonal conflict. If Theodore and Draco had tried to spark up a fight, it would literally be the equivalent of two cats intending to spar with a pair of mice.

With one last nod of acknowledgement, the Slytherins walked in the direction of their dormitories and she followed after Cedric.

Once she got into her bedroom, she looked up at Hannah, who was sprawled out on top of her duvet with a picture in her hands. Her feet were crossed up in the air as she let out a sigh, and she dramatically turned over on her back as she watched Clara head over to her bed.

“Where’d you go? I literally thought you apparated, I looked for you everywhere” Hannah said, propping up her face with her hands as she looked at her friend with curiosity. Clara shrugged and waved a hand at her. “Sorry…it’s not even worth getting into, right now. Just Diggory stuff.”

“Oooh, _Diggory stuff,”_ she said with an eager smile, sitting up slightly. “Is this about Cho Chang?”

Clara looked up at her with furrowed eyebrows. _Cho Chang? What did Cedric’s non-official girlfriend have to do with anything?_ “…No? Why? What happened with Cho?”

“Nothing,” Hannah said a little too quickly. “I just assumed…never mind. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Wait, what? Why did you say her name?”

“Just forget I even said it. How’s Cedric, is everything okay?”

Clara gave her a suspicious glance but nodded her head anyway. “Yeah, everything’s fine. It was no big deal, just a…family conference, of sorts,” she admitted half-truthfully. This seemed to satisfy Hannah, who merely nodded and gazed adoringly back at the picture in her hands. The blonde’s finger traced over the picture fondly, and her usual loose, goofy smile was bright and longing. With a roll of her eyes, Clara shook her head at her friend.

“Oh, Merlin,” Clara said jokingly. “We’ve reverted back to looking at “The Neville Picture,” have we?”

“The Neville Picture” had become something of a legend in the Hufflepuff girl’s dormitories, or at least among their group of friends. In Hannah’s hands was a photo Collin Creevey had taken of a Clara, Hannah, Neville, and some other members of the Herbology Club when they were repotting plants with Professor Sprout in the greenhouse last year. They had all started the club together, an organization that wound up becoming less about plants and instead, served as a convenient excuse for Hannah to stare at the Gryffindor boy and for Clara to harass Professor Sprout for fun stories from her youth.

Clara remembered secretly wondering why Collin had even been there in the first place. After he took several rounds of pictures of her, and _only her_ , posing with two bubotubers in her dirt-covered, tan gardening cloak, she began to think it was possible that the younger boy was not there to take pictures of the _entire_ Herbology Club. But nonetheless, she dismissed her thoughts and before he left, asked him to take a group photo of all of them.

Somehow, Hannah had managed to sneak it away from her a few months ago last term, and Clara had yet to retrieve it back.

Hannah’s face turned bright red, and she slammed the picture to her chest theatrically. “It’s not just a picture of _Neville_ , Clara _._ It’s of _all_ of us. Maybe I am merely reminiscing on the good times we’ve had together!” She flipped her long blonde hair confidently, her eyes not leaving the photo in her hands.

“Then why have you folded the picture so that everyone but you and Neville are out of frame?”

“…Maybe I’m admiring my own good looks.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re looking at _someone’s_ good looks.”

Clara laughed as a pillow sailed across the room and hit her square in the face.

* * *

“Oh, you _must_ be kidding me.”

It was Monday afternoon, and as both girls walked into the Herbology classroom, they stared in shock at the sight of their new peers. Instead of seeing purple or red the way Clara and Hannah had in the previous years in their favorite course subject, it was a sea of green ties and smirking faces.

_Slytherins_.

And much to their dismay, it wasn’t just one or two from the House of Snakes, but twelve students in total took up half of the available seats around the room as petrified Hufflepuffs stuck to the back of the class.

Hannah’s face turned white with mortification as Clara took a long, deep breath and nodded to herself. They had shown up fifteen minutes before the start of class as per usual, hoping to reunite with some of their other friends from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw the way their classes had been combined the last three years. Fourth- year was already turning into a disaster; that stupid Triwizard competition was the first bad omen, and now this?

“It’s not that bad,” Clara assured the blonde weakly. “It could be worse. I mean… we could have been the only Hufflepuffs in here. That’d be a bit terrible, wouldn’t it?”

With an audible gulp, Hannah whipped around to meet her eyes. “It’s a fifty-fifty split,” she whispered. “A _fifty-fifty_ split, Clara! That’s too many of them!”

“It’s a… a good, equal distribution, I think…? Maybe this is a good way to…meet some new people we wouldn’t otherwise talk to.”

“Oh _Merlin,”_ Hannah moaned. “This is my _safe space!_ Slytherins are not meant to be in my _safe space,_ Clara Diggory _._ I come to Herbology to…to _decompress…_ to learn about how to water succulents and rotate soil, not to be… _harassed_ or insulted!”

Clara squeezed her eyes shut and walked towards an empty black table, pulling out a chair for her nervous friend as she collapsed into her own exhaustedly. “They haven’t even done anything yet, Hanns. We’ve been in this room for thirty seconds and… and you’re already assuming the worst. Let’s be optimistic! We’ve got each other, don’t we?” she told her, slightly chastising as she watched Hannah’s angry red cheeks dim into something slightly more ashamed.

“You know, intellectually, I know you’re right,” Hannah replied with a huff. “But emotionally, I’m ready to start rocking in the fetal position.” 

With a long sigh, Clara bit her lip and shrugged, putting a comforting hand on the other girl’s shoulder. “We’ll stick by one another for every assignment. We’ll be each other’s partners, and we can do the term project as a team so we can just try to get through the year, alright?”

“…I guess.”

Suddenly, she felt a tug on her hair and Clara’s head jerked backwards. “Hey!” she scowled, her jaw falling open in annoyance as she patted frantically at her long locks. Whipping around in her chair, she saw Ernie and Justin snickering behind them with proud grins. “What? We were just saying hello,” Ernie said innocently.

Clara narrowed her eyes at them, and Ernie merely grinned as he propped up his arms on his desk and rested his chin in his palms. “So,” he asked lightly. “Aren’t you excited for our new _classmates_?”

“I’m about as excited as a criminal awaiting arraignment,” Hannah said miserably, her face contorted into frustration. “An example I’m sure many of them can relate to, surely,” Justin replied with a chuckle. Ernie gave his friend an elbow to his ribs as he laughed.

Frowning, Clara put a hand on the blonde girl’s knee in an attempt to quiet her. “Hanns, this classroom is not that big. You might want to wait to voice your concerns until a little later, yeah?” she suggested. It wasn’t that she disagreed with her friend’s feelings, she too felt apprehensive about the tension already forming between the two houses within minutes of their first class. “We can talk after.”

“Well, all I know is that I’d rather eat a million Flobberworms than work with one of ‘em,” Ernie said as he crossed his arms across his chest, boldly staring at the back of a Slytherin student’s head as he scrunched his nose. “After all the shite they’ve been saying about our house for the last few years, the last thing I’m going to do is help one of those snakes get a good Herbology grade. Let’s see how high an’ mighty they want to act when they’re begging for our help.”

Justin nodded in agreement. “Maybe we should show them that not _all_ Hufflepuffs are a bunch of daft little softies.”

“Definitely.”

A girl with a green tie and a blunt, black bob turned around in her seat and snarled at Ernie. Clara knew her name distantly…her name was a flower, Daisy, Rosie? “Like we want to work with the likes of _you,_ you little trolls,” she sneered at the boys, who quickly turned red and looked away from her. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Justin and Ernie slumped in their seats, embarrassed and clearly unwilling to say anything else as they avert their eyes. Clara looked over at the girl and realized she was sitting between Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy, and immediately felt her eyes widen.

“Rude,” Hannah said under her breath, sending what was probably intended as a discreet dirty look over at the black-haired girl. “We don’t want to work with you, either.”

Clara could feel the low-brimming rage coming from the Slytherin girl before she saw her. The girl met Hanah’s glare with a vicious expression and spun in her seat, her eyes narrowed into slits as she stared back. Theodore Nott, merely watching the scene in front of him boredly, made a weak attempt to get her to dismiss the matter with a loose grasp on her shoulder, but she quickly shrugged him off his hand as she stared at the blonde with a look so dark, it would have probably incited fear in You-Know-Who, himself. 

Clara glanced at Hannah, who sat in near- paralysis as she swallowed audibly and her face blanched. Both girls eyed the Slytherin and the sharpness in her smirk as she stared at them, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her desk and forcing the blonde to emit an embarrassing squeak as a pair of baby-blue eyes meet a pair of cold, dark ones. All Clara could feel was waves of fear and barely- concealed hatred entwined in the air around her like tightly sewn thread. 

With a loud creaking of the heavy wooden door, Professor Sprout, a small, round woman with short grey hair and a flare for patch-covered clothing, waddled into the classroom with a smile. Clara immediately sighed with relief and looked at Hannah, a grin rising to her face as she turned to face the front of the class. The sight of their Head of House was the only reassurance in such an uncomfortable environment, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful that her professor showed up with impeccable timing. “Hello everyone!” Professor Sprout exclaimed as she shuffled in front of her students, clasping her hands together excitedly.

“I hope you’ve all enjoyed your holiday, and I hope you’ve all come back to Hogwarts well-rested and ready for your fourth-year. As many of you can see, we are in for a very… _interesting_ term ahead of us, and I’m hoping that for the time being, we can put aside our house differences in order to make this year enjoyable for all of us,” she said optimistically. From the back of her head, she heard Draco’s distinct mumble ringing out among the silence. “ _Bloody likely,”_ he sneered.

Professor Sprout either failed to hear him, or dismissed his comment entirely, because she proceeded without so much as a waver in her smile as she addressed the class. “While the curriculum of Herbology has not changed since I’ve become a professor, I’ve decided to take the liberty to alter the syllabus this year in favor of trying out some new ideas among my fourth-years. As all of you know, Herbology is a mandatory subject for _all_ Hogwarts students. Yet, time and time again… I hear that many students do not feel as though it is an important component of their education,” she explained, eyeing the Slytherin students carefully as she spoke. “So that is why I would like to… experiment with you all, and I am asking for your patience and understanding this year as we move forward with some changes to our class.”

Clara spared a quick glance over at Hannah, her eyes questioning. Herbology was one of the few subjects she felt like she could truly enjoy, not because she her other classes weren’t interesting, but because she felt a connection to the plants she felt with little else. It was also a welcome reprieve from the increasing difficulty of some of her more advanced subjects, like potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Sprout’s compassionate and considerate nature was just as gentle as the plants themselves, and she found herself learning just as much from her kindness as she did from the work she was assigned. Much to her disappointment, Hannah shrugged at her, just as confused as she was.

But now, with the ominous “changes” Professor Sprout was making to the class, Clara couldn’t help but feel anxious. Most Hufflepuffs liked working in the greenhouse, and she would dare to even say that at least for her, the subject came as naturally to her as the magic flowing through her veins. It was safe to say that these changes to the syllabus were definitely not an accommodation for _her_ house, but she had a pretty good idea as to _why_ they were being made _._

“With that being said,” Professor Sprout said cautiously. “I’d like to address the Hippogriff in the room… it is no secret that the house rivalries surpass that of the competition on the Quidditch field. Throughout the last few years, I have watched our institution become increasingly more fractured among the student body, a rather disappointing result caused by the actions of very few.”

“Therefore… I’d like to implement a way in which students from different houses will be paired with someone outside of their own house, a person they might not have ever spoken to. I believe that by working together and relying on one another to achieve a common goal with your grades, this may diffuse some of the… _tension…_ among you, at least in part.”

The Slytherin students seemed to collectively groan and whine as the Hufflepuffs shrunk in their seats, the very idea of having to work together such a preposterous one that even both houses could agree it was ill-thought. Professor Sprout looked at all of them with dismay, her hands resting on her wide hips disappointedly as her eyebrows furrowed together. “Students,” she scorned. “I don’t believe I was offering you all a mere _suggestion._ ”

The class immediately shut up, an eerie silence falling over the angry and equally uncertain fourth- years.

“Now,” Professor Sprout continued. “I have taken a look at our roster for the next term, and I am delighted to inform you all that it seems as though there are _just_ as many Hufflepuffs in our class as Slytherins. A grand total of twenty- four of you, and twelve students from each house. So, moving forward, I have assigned you all into pairings of one Hufflepuff and one Slytherin. I have chosen the pairings _very carefully_ based on the strengths and weaknesses you have demonstrated in our class the past three years, so I expect that none of you will attempt to change your pairings or inquire about _switching_ so you can be among your friends.”

Clara could hear Ernie’s audible sigh as he slumped in his chair, his foot kicking at the back of her chair annoyingly as she shot him a warning look. She kept her face carefully blank, not wanting her favorite professor to think she was disagreeing with her authority. She avoided Hannah’s look of disbelief as best as she could, instead choosing to prop her face up in her hands on the desk.

To anyone else, she might have looked eager. Not excited, not thrilled, but anticipatory- as if what Professor Sprout was administering was something she agreed with, something she thought would be a good idea.

Inwardly, Clara’s heart pounded against her rib cage like a drum and her stomach twisted.

“Clara,” Hannah whispered, her voice laced with panic. “ _Clara!”_

“I know,” Clara whispered back. “I know, but it’s going to be okay, alright? I promise.”

“I’m going to be sick.”

“No you’re not, Hanns. _Breathe_. Calm down, it’s okay.”

“So if you’re all ready to hear who your term partner will be, I suggest you listen up. Now, these partnerships won’t begin until later this week since we must still go over syllabus rules and class expectations, but remember- these are _not_ to be changed. And I know you will _all_ be on your best behavior, because if I hear otherwise, your work for the term will immediately be docked a grade and your respective houses _will_ lose points” Professor Sprout cautioned.

Clara fiddled with her fingers on the tabletop, her hands nervously toying with themselves as she tried to inhale and exhale as discreetly as possible in an attempt to calm her nerves.

As Professor Sprout went down the list, she could hear the unconcealed whines of protest and the air once again filled with a palpable tension as she called out pairings without so much as looking up from the parchment in her hands. Clara tried to focus on the sounds of Justin’s foot tapping against the ground and Hannah’s hand rubbing against the back of her neck anxiously. Closing her eyes, she breathed in and out as she awaited her name to be called out, her lips pressed against each other tightly as she tried to wade out the high-running emotions in the room.

_“Mr. Macmillan and Mr. Zabini,”_

_“Miss Parkinson and Mr. Finch-Fletchley.”_

“Dear _God,”_ Justin moaned out quietly. “I’ll see you all in the emergency unit at St. Mungo’s, since I’m sure to lose body parts if I so much as utter a word _.”_

Ernie snorted. “You think _that’s_ bad? If I cross Zabini, his mother’s going to kill me off like she’s done to one of her seven husbands! My life is at stake, Justin!”

“Ernie, I’d rather have my life be threatened, if it meant I could save my co-“

_“Miss Abbott and Mr. Nott,”_

Hannah let out a humiliatingly loud squeak, the sound erupting from her throat just as she tried to smother her mouth with her hands. “Clara,” she whispered angrily. “You said things were going to be okay! This… this is _not okay!”_

But unbeknownst to her, Clara was stunned silent, her eyes facing forward as she swallowed thickly. The realization hit her like a Bludger…she was one of the last two names on the roster to be called. She barely even heard Hannah’s uttered grievances as her fingers twitched, her eyes widening despite themselves.

“ _And last, but not least, Miss Diggory and… Mr. Malfoy. You will be our final pairing.”_

* * *

“Miss Diggory, may I speak to you for a moment?” Professor Sprout said quietly, her hands busying themselves with two potted Fluxweed plants. She didn’t look at Clara in the eye, a sure sign that whatever her professor was going to say was obviously bad news. With a confident nudge and a nod, she urged Hannah to go on without her.

Her first Herbology class of the year had ended after what seemed like a century, and she wanted to escape as quickly as possible. Although she’d never admit she was looking, she couldn’t help but notice from the corner of her eye how a certain silver-haired blonde had practically stomped out of the class, not even looking behind him as his expensive black shoes pounded against the stone floors.

“Yes, Professor Sprout?” Clara said unsurely, her hands fiddling together just as they had when the stout woman read off her list of pairings. Her grey eyes strayed to the green and purple plant in the clay pots on the table in front of her. Fluxweed was one of her favorite plants; it was the key ingredient in Polyjuice Potion and it served multiple medical and healing purposes. She wondered if her instructor was going to ask for help with it since after all, Clara had been a committed member of Herbology Club since it began.

Professor Sprout followed her gaze, offering her a wide smile and a shake of her head. “Not these, young lady,” she said apologetically. “These are for the sixth years. It’s a bit advanced for students of your age, although I know you and Neville are dying to get your hands on it.”

Clara blushed, grinning shyly as she rocked on her heels. “Oh well, how disappointing,” she joked. “I guess I’ll have to satisfy myself with Bubotubers once again.”

“And you’ll be happy to know that since you already know how to handle them, you should get nothing less than an O on that assignment. Which actually brings me to why I’ve asked you stay after class, Miss Diggory. I’m… I’m quite sure you know what I’m about to say,” Professor Sprout replied, her voice taking on a subtle whisper as she watered the two plants on the table.

Her smile faltered, but she schooled her features and shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t, Professor,” she admitted honestly. “Is something wrong?”

The woman licked her lips and met the brunette with an earnest gaze. “Well, I hope not,” she said lightly. “At least, I hope nothing _will_ be.” Clara stared on, just as perplexed if not more so, and tilted her head at her.

“I’m sure you may have some… _questions…_ about your arrangement, Miss Diggory. And I wanted to explain my decision, if you’d allow it,” Professor Sprout replied. With a shake of her head, Clara smiled and waved her off with a hand. “Oh Professor, I… it’s really okay, I-“

“No, no, I must… because I’m afraid I must make something clear to you, so you’re aware of your… options, for lack of a better word,” Professor Sprout interrupted. “You see… Miss Diggory, you’re aware you’re one of my best students, aren’t you?”

Clara’s eyes blew open wide. “I…wow, really? Am I?” she asked in bewilderment. The other woman merely chuckled to herself, her eyes rolling fondly as she placed her soiled gloves down on the table. “I always seem to forget who I’m talking to, when I speak to my own Hufflepuff students… but fear not, Clara, this is not mere flattery. This is the truth, and it’s important that you realize I am _very_ aware of your talent in Herbology… and I consider you one of my prized pupils.”

It was a terrifying prospect, really. Clara, like Cedric, wasn’t necessarily used to or good at accepting compliments no matter how well- intentioned they were. Whenever someone praised her, it almost felt as though they were talking about someone else- after all, it was _gardening,_ wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if she was a prized pupil at anything life changing or mountain moving. And it was certainly a lot of pressure, for her to be given such acclaim that she wasn’t even aware of how she earned. However, she did feel her heart squeeze at her role model’s words.

“Thank you,” Clara said quietly. “Truly, that m-means a lot coming from you, really. But… but what does that have to do with-?”

Professor Sprout raised a single finger at her, cutting her off effectively. “Aha… you see, as your Head of House, as the mentor for Herbology club… and as your instructor, of course, I’ve gotten to know you quite well, Miss Diggory. Not only do you have a real gift for Herbology, but you also have… quite the _patient demeanor_ , I’d say. Something this school, and frankly, the world, is in dire need of.”

Clara flushed at the comment, and shyly tucked one of her dark brown locks behind her ear. “Oh,” she said, lacking anything else better to say. “Well… It’s just how I was raised to be, I suppose. How _we_ were raised to be, Cedric and I.”

“And I do not doubt that your parents have done a wonderful job raising you and your brother,” Professor Sprout replied kindly. “But in your case specifically, I think it may also be an even greater product of _who you are_.” She tapped at the side of her temple and sent Clara a knowing look, making the girl’s eyes widen even more.

“Professor Snape and I _do_ speak, you know,” she told her student. “And while I truly do hate to sound like such an opportunist, I think your _talent_ might actually be to the benefit of this situation, if I can be honest with you.”

Shuffling her feet nervously, Clara nodded. “I… I don’t really see how it’d be much use in Herbology, but I’m open to suggestion.” Professor Sprout smiled at her and squinted her eyes slightly, assessing her silently.

“You see, Mr. Malfoy is also an exceptionally high-achieving student like yourself. He’s one of Slytherin’s most gifted students, and he is filled with immense, unbridled talent in nearly every subject, if you didn’t know already.”

Clara didn’t know that at all, actually.

“However, his… _patience…_ seems to run quite thin with Herbology. And if we’re being candid, I do fear that his… _reputation_ would possibly intimidate some of your Hufflepuff peers.”

“But…but not me,” Clara said questioningly, her sentence trailing off. “What… what is it that you’d like me to do, exactly?”

“I want you to know that I’ve paired you together with a specific reason. Firstly, I am very curious to see what two young, bright minds can do when they collaborate together… especially two students as different as you and Mr. Malfoy. But more importantly, I’m hoping that with your partnership, he may come to appreciate Herbology a little more, and as someone who knows you well, I know you won’t succumb to fear as you work together. I know it may sound like quite a bit of a task,” Professor Sprout explained.

_A task, indeed,_ Clara thought to herself. She hardly saw how she’d be qualified to teach someone who didn’t have much of an interest in the subject the wonders of plants and dirt, but if her Head of House was confident that she was the one for the job, she wouldn’t argue with her.

“I can certainly try my hardest,” Clara told her seriously. “I… I don’t have any problems with working with Draco, really, I don’t.”

It was the truth. She was nervous and the idea made her feel a little unwell, but Clara wasn’t exactly Harry or Hermione or Ron… she hadn’t fallen prey to his bullying in previous years, and while he wasn’t exactly the _kindest_ to her, their interactions had run few and far between.

And… and maybe a little part of her thought about her run-in with Crabbe and Goyle outside of the Great Hall the other day, and the way he shut down their teasing comments without so much as a stutter in his words. After all, how terrible a person could he be, if he was willing to embarrass his own friends in favor of _her,_ of all people? Was it possible he wasn’t the troublemaking, terrible person he had been described as since their first year together?

“Good!” Professor Sprout exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “That’s very good, Clara. I’m hoping your… talent… will allow for a much more dynamic form of communication, a way for you to look beyond who Mr. Malfoy is often thought to be and see him for who he truly _is._ This is Just what I like to hear. And I presume you realize, if you _do_ have any…issues… know that my partnership policy for this course can be waived, if such a situation calls for it.”

“I don’t… I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Or at least, I hope it won’t be,” Clara responded, trying to swallow past the nervous lump in her throat. “But…I- I do have a question.”

“Of course.”

“Would you… would you have asked someone like Hannah, or Justin…if it wasn’t for…if it wasn’t for my…” she said shyly, insecurity bubbling through her words.

The woman sent her a sympathetic look and shook her head. “Regardless of your… heightened empathy, Clara… I’d have chosen _you_ regardless,” Professor Sprout disrupted, putting her small, pudgy hand on top of hers. “I think Mr. Malfoy can learn a lot from you as a student and as a person. And in turn, I think you can learn a lot from him, as well…I… I’m very hopeful that this pairing will succeed in this class.”

A breath she didn’t realize she was holding exhaled through Clara’s mouth, and she gave her a tight smile. “Right,” she said politely. “Well, that’s good to know. And… and if you feel that it’ll be a good pairing, I… I trust your decision, Professor.”

Professor Sprout gave her another pat on the hand and sent her a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said sweetly. “For being so understanding.”

“It’s not a problem, Professor Sprout. If… if Draco’s even half the student you’ve described him to be, I… I look forward to working with him. I don’t know him very well, but who knows? This…could be a good thing.”

With a few more words of gratitude, the Professor sent Clara on her way, and with a polite nod, the dark-haired girl left the classroom feeling like she’d run a marathon.

Dinner conversation at the Hufflepuff table was going to be _very_ interesting tonight.

Very interesting, indeed.


	5. Now Doth Time Waste Me

**_Third Year_ **

_“And did you see the look on Longbottom’s face when Snape walked through the wardrobe?” Pansy cackled. “I thought he was going to shit himself right on the spot! Merlin, how humiliating.”_

_Draco didn’t look up from the potions book in his lap as he sat on one of the leather couches in the dark, cold Slytherin common room. He could barely focus on the words in front of him as his friends burst into hysterics on the carpet below him, recalling the events from earlier today in their DADA class._

Stupid bloody Boggarts _, Draco thought to himself._ Stupid Boggarts, and their stupid shape- shifting, and their stupid abilities and their stupid existence. The entirety of the Boggart lesson was totally and completely pointless, that he was sure of.

_“I dunno,” Theo said as he kicked his feet up on the card table. “Weasley’s was pretty pathetic too. I mean, a spider, really? You’re telling me that a kid with red hair so terrifying it could make a grown man cry, who’s friends with a Mudblood and an idiot with a death-wish, is afraid of a damned insect? And I thought they called Slytherins cowards.”_

_Draco snorted, and to his friends, it probably sounded like a sound of agreement. But internally, he found himself frowning at the cruel words of the three of them as he attempted to lose himself in the wonderful world of potions. It wasn’t that he cared about what they were saying or who they were talking about, not at all. It was the fact that they didn’t understand, they didn’t know what it felt like for any of those in class who got confronted by the one thing they wished to never see. Bunch of hypocritical tossers, the lot of them. Calling people cowards when they hadn’t even gone up to test their own bravery._

_Blaise, Theo, and Pansy… they didn’t see their Boggart. They chose to sit out of the activity, pointing fingers and chuckling at the terrified faces of their peers as they watched student, one after another, come face-to-face their biggest fear._

_They didn’t feel the horror that settled into your bones, the chill forming under your skin as you were confronted with something so paralyzing it made your heart beat against your chest as if it was trying to claw its way out. They didn’t have their vision blur out of focus as they tried to keep their grip on reality, they didn’t feel their lungs constrict and the breath leave their body._

_But Draco did. He was the only Slytherin to volunteer himself, and it was possibly his biggest regret to date._

_Blaise let out a bark of a laugh as he tapped his foot against the floor, his arms folded across his chest as he tilted his head back on the couch. Pansy’s mouth lifted into a smirk, and she assessed her perfectly filed nails as the corners of her mouth tilted into something vicious. “And don’t even get me started on Diggory’s,” Pansy said with a laugh. “All that crying and shaking she was doing. Like a damned kicked baby crup, she was! Every single day, I thank Salazar Slytherin himself that I’m not a Hufflepuff. I couldn’t imagine having the gall to sob like a child in front of so many people.”_

_Draco fixed her with a nasty glare, his face wrinkling devilishly as he bore his cold grey eyes into her green ones. “Oh shut up, Pansy. You’re only laughing because you know if you saw your Boggart, it would have been an image of that busted face of yours without those beauty potions you take every morning.”_

_Pansy’s smile fell off her face in seconds, a quick expression of hurt passing over her features before she quickly schooled them. “Such an arsehole,” she mumbled as she scrambled up from the carpet, running her hands over her robes as she tried to primp herself to distract from her reddened cheeks. “That’s just the kind of thing a_ real gentleman _would say to a lady, Draco Malfoy. If I didn’t know you so well, I’d almost think you were defending those bloodtraitors.”_

_Blaise stared at Draco with an indecipherable look in his eye, his brows furrowed in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. “I dunno what crawled up your arse, Draco, but I’d try and pull it out if I were you. You’re intolerable on a good day, and right now you’re acting like a right prat.”_

_Draco felt his eyes narrow, and he carefully closed his book and placed it next to him as he kicked his feet from the headrest to the floor below him. “Really, Zabini? Because I didn’t see you volunteering yourself to see your Boggart either, when I think about it. Afraid you’d see your real father, are you? He’s probably Dumbledore himself, since your Mum’s gotten with every other man in Britain, after all.”_

_“Yeah, including your dad, you self-absorbed prick,” Blaise snapped lowly. “For future reference, I like Acid Pops from Honeydukes. I’ll be expecting that as an apology gift when you decide to stop acting like a dick. Since I won’t be speaking to you before then.”_

_“Well you can keep waiting for those bloody Acid Pops then, won’t you? Now bugger off,” Draco replied with an eye-roll. Blaise snarled at him as he rose to his feet, standing next to Pansy as they both stalked off. “Fuck you, Malfoy,” Blaise bit out before he turned around and left._

_Theo and Draco sat in silence, the dark-haired boy staring at his blonde friend with a knowing look. Draco tried to avert his gaze, but in frustration, bared his teeth at him threateningly. “You want to have a go, too, Nott? Because I have all day.”_

_“Not particularly, no. I’m a bit fragile right now since, y’know it’s my time of the month,” Theo responded sarcastically. “Which I have to assume is also your excuse for acting so perfectly obnoxious. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. I’m sure Madam Pomfrey has a menstrual potion you can- “_

_“You’re terrible unfunny, Nott.”_

_“I happen to think I’m hilarious.”_

_Another tense silence commenced between them, and Theo’s eyes bore holes into Draco’s skin like flames burning into parchment. “You’re rubbish at it, you know,” he said knowingly._

_“At what?”_

_“The lying, of course.”_

_Draco’s eyes flickered up to meet his, his lips curling slightly as his grey eyes became stony. “What are you prattling on about, Theodore? Just say what it is you want to say, stop speaking in bloody circles.” He hated when Theo did this, when he acted like he knew Draco better than he even knew himself._

_It was a strange behavior that assumed the impossible- how could someone truly know you, if you weren’t even sure who you were in the first place?_

_Theo pushed himself onto the couch in order to meet Draco’s stare with a level gaze, his long fingers tapping on the armrest unconsciously in a way that made the blonde boy’s eye twitch. “I’m not much in the mood for pissing you off,” Theo said lightly. “Doesn’t do me any good in the long run.”_

_“Funny then, how you’re managing to do it anyway.”_

_“Hm,” Theo replied, looking at Draco as if he was peeling him apart, layer by layer. “You know, sometimes I catch the way you stare off at dinner, did you know that?”_

_“Good for you, Theo. It’s reassuring that you have so little else to do but follow my every move.”_

_Theo smirked. “I really don’t. you’re right,” he retorted. “Not when your antics are so much more interesting.”_

_“Maybe I’m just trying to distract myself from the fact I’m surrounded by a bunch of bloody idiots all the time, has that occurred to you?”_

_“And you’re distracting yourself by looking at what, exactly? Or_ who, _rather?”_

_A tense silence washed over the room, and Theo’s smirk widened as Draco felt his neck vein pulse. “Nott,” Draco said dangerously. “Maybe I’ll send a letter to your Pureblood father, telling him his son fancies blokes... I wonder what he’d say to that.”_

_Theo’s smirk flickered, and the mischievous look in his eyes was replaced by something critical, almost disappointed, if Draco was being honest with himself. “Sometimes, Draco, I think there actually might be a real person underneath all that… all that “Malfoy.” That you’re not as shitty as you behave. And then you talk like this, whenever you’re scared or intimidated or nervous. When you try to act like you’re some big, bad villain just like Lucius raised you to be… well, it’s actually quite fitting, when I think about it. It’s the scariest thing of all, I think.”_

_“What’s fitting, exactly?”_

_“That your Boggart’s nothing more than your own reflection.”_

_And with that, Theo left the room, and Draco was left all alone._

* * *

_**Present Day**_

“It’s not a problem, Professor Sprout. If…if Draco’s even half the student you’ve described him to be, I… I look forward to working with him. I don’t know him very well, but who knows? This… could be a good thing.”

Draco loomed outside the classroom in the newly emptied hall, his back pressed against the stone as he turned his head towards the door. His mouth contorted into a frown as he heard Diggory’s words, his teeth clenching together at the saccharine sound of her voice.

He didn’t want her bloody _pity._ Professor Sprout may have pulled the girl aside to discuss their… _partnership…_ but she clearly left out a few details. Like how he absolutely despised the pudgy older woman and her dirty fingernails and her terrible clothing. She neglected to tell Clara that Draco thought Herbology was work for commoners; tasks assigned to the lower classes since someone of his breeding would rather be caught dead than shoving their hands into pots full of dirt. Professor Sprout acted like Clara was doing some greater act of service, like she was holier-than-thou for merely being assigned to one of the professor’s least-liked students.

And the nerve of that girl, to act as though she was looking forward to with their pairing even though it was obvious she was nervous… if there was anything she should be feeling, it was gratitude that this was as close as she’d ever get to an heir of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and that she was partnered with one of the most academically successful students in Slytherin history.

Instead, she spoke to Professor Sprout as if she was trying to convince her instructor and herself that this was all a good idea. As if he were a charity case Clara had taken on, a person she felt compelled to treat as her equal even though it was obvious to him that she felt like she was of a higher caste than he. She could smile those wide grins of hers and bat her eyes because in reality, working together wouldn’t so much as leave a smudge on her picture-perfect reputation. As for Draco, he’d be watched by his peers every moment they worked together for any sign of a wrong move.

Because if he treated her like a normal person, well…he’d be ruined among Slytherins, a laughing- stock for talking to a Hufflepuff with any grain of respect. If he treated her like pure and utter shite, he’d undoubtedly make a series of new enemies from three different houses. Draco had no problem making enemies. In fact, he relished in his ability to make people feel small.

But he was still a strategist.

He wanted people to fear him, not _hate_ him. Fear was how he maintained his power, how he kept people in line and ruled over his subordinates. However, if enough people hated him, then then they’d hate him together, and he wouldn’t be very powerful, now would he?

_The bloody nerve of that stupid woman. The bloody nerve of that stupid girl._

Draco refused to be anything less than the best student, which meant he couldn’t exactly sacrifice his Herbology grade to prove a point. If he refused to work with her, if he forced her to take over all the work, there was no telling what she’d do. He didn’t interact with Hufflepuffs for a reason- their emotional, sensitive nature wasn’t dependable. He couldn’t account for something terrible happening, and if he was bested by some nasty little badger over something as silly as his grade in a gardening class, Lucius would probably cut him right out of the family cloth for that infraction alone.

And he obviously couldn’t take over all the work on his own. As talented he was at his coursework, Herbology was not his strong suit.

Storming down the silent hallway, his expensive black shoes pushed against the stone with a vengeance as his fists clenched by his side. Draco hated feeling this way, feeling like he was thrown into the deep end of a pool without even knowing how to swim. He considered himself an expert at games, and he didn’t even have a set of instructions to play this one.

What was infinitely worse, if he was honest with himself, was that he had no idea what to _do._ He didn’t have a single idea as to how to approach his current circumstance, he didn’t know how to get what he wanted from his professor or from Diggory.

He wasn’t even sure _what,_ exactly, he wanted in the first place.

_The only thing worse than being incompetent, or being unkind, or being evil,_ a voice that sounded paralyzingly a lot like his godfather’s floated through his head, _is being indecisive._

* * *

Theo could barely suppress that wicked grin of his, and Draco had never wanted to smack that look off his face quite as much as he did right now.

“Shut the fuck up, Nott,” Draco snapped lowly, his fork stabbing at a piece of prime rib as if it was Professor Sprout herself. “I don’t need to hear your blimey little side comments, shut your mouth and eat your _fucking_ potatoes.”

“Yeah,” Zabini laughed in faux-agreement, his eyebrows furrowing together sarcastically. “Eat your fucking potatoes, Theo.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Pansy piped up in a bored manner. “It’s a bunch of bloody Hufflepuffs. Who gives a shite? I’ve no problem letting some tosser do all the work for me.”

Theo pointed a knowing finger at Draco, the corner of his lips curled in a smile. “You know, the fact that I have to be partnered with that _absolutely terribly boring little blonde_ is a fair price to pay for me to watch you fumble around Diggory like a child with his first broom.”

“Do I have to cast a fucking silencing charm on your foul mouth for you to shut up?” Draco growled, his hands slamming down on either side of his plate. “Merlin, you say Potter has a death wish, but the only person I see who wants his arse tossed into the afterlife is _you.”_

“Are you offering to toss my arse, Malfoy? How positively salacious of you.”

Draco felt his jaw clench and his eyes narrow, but something caught the corner of his vision as he turned his head.

Two tables away sat Clara Diggory, sitting next to some of those other Hufflepuff twats that were in Herbology class earlier today. She was chuckling along with that Abbott girl, her long brown locks brushing against her robes as she gleamed at one of the boys across from her. Her face, as always, was devoid of any sign of unhappiness or discontent.

Draco distantly wondered what that was like. To feel so freely, to be so filled with unbridled joy that eating her eating a rubbish dinner in the Great Hall with her friends looked nothing short of a party from the perspective of any onlookers who watched the girl and her yellow-clad housemates.

How the _fuck_ was he supposed to work with her? To talk to her, to be next to her, no less?

As if Merlin himself was working overtime to make sure Draco’s life was particularly difficult, a pair of warm, bright grey eyes met his own pale ones.

Clara looked at him, her forehead wrinkling slightly in confusion as she lifted her hand and gave him an unsure wave. A tentative smile painted itself across her features, her eyes squinting at him as if he was an apparition she wasn’t quite sure was really looking back at her.

Draco merely looked at her, his face blank. He didn’t wave back.

Slowly tucking her hand back onto her lap under her table, Clara’s smile waned.

“You know _,”_ Theo said obviously, trying to catch the blonde’s attention. Draco blinked as he refocused, his hand reaching for his glass of pumpkin juice next to his plate. Blaise and Pansy were distracted by some angry, vengeful tale Millicent was telling them a few seats away, and Draco suddenly felt like was trapped into a corner by the dark-haired boy. “My father used to say, if you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you.”

“What in the bloody hell does that mean?”

“She’s looking back at you. Diggory, from the other table.”

He looked over at the Hufflepuffs again, and there Clara was, frowning at him as if he was an arithmancy problem she couldn’t figure out. Draco’s teeth gritted together.

“So?”

“I just figured you’d want to know, that’s all. Since all you’ve done is look at her for the past three years, even if you won’t admit it…even if you didn’t _know_ you were doing it.”

Letting out a dramatically long sigh, Draco’s hands flying to his temples in aggravation. “Every time you speak… every time you open that bloody big mouth of yours, I start to think about how much better my life’d be if you’d been born a Squib.”

“It’s because you know I’m telling you the truth,” Theo said with a tilt of his head. “If it makes you feel any better…I think you could do much, _much_ worse. I mean, the Diggorys… they’re not that bad, really. Bloodtraitors, the lot of them, so I know Mummy and Daddy Malfoy wouldn’t be too pleased… but you could do worse.”

Draco stayed silent, his fingers tapping against the table as he racked his brain for a witty reply. For once, he was at a loss for words, his tongue tied and his cheeks currently flooded with heat from anger and _definitely_ not embarrassment. Theo was a good enough friend to ignore the pink tint that rose to his friend’s face, but he maintained a steady gaze at the silvery blonde as he picked at the remaining scraps of his dinner. “All I’m saying is,” Theo said quietly. “If you think you’re being subtle, you’re not. And if I can notice it, there must be someone else that sees it, too.”

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about as per usual, Theodore. Now, are you about finished with that disgusting mess you’ve made on your plate? Because I’d like to leave.”

Theo sighed, but he nodded.

Both boys rose from their seats at the Slytherin table, Draco’s eyes staring straight ahead of him at nothing in particular, which was a welcome distraction from the two grey eyes following after him. “Good,” Draco continued, his voice short and tight. “We’ll leave Millicent to entertain Zabini and Parkinson with her stupid little stories, and maybe I’ll even manage to escape from Pansy’s constant badgering on our way to the dorms if we quicken our pace.” 

Straightening out his robes and dropping a napkin halfheartedly on his plate, Draco spun on his heel and practically flew out of the big, wooden doors of the Great Hall, Theo hot on his tail as his shoes clicked against the floor.

He was in desperate need of a good night’s rest, especially since a creeping feeling wormed its way up into his lungs as he left the dining hall as swiftly as possible. He didn’t feel… upset, exactly, but suddenly Draco felt like he was being closed in upon, like the people around him were patiently waiting for him to fall on his arse so they could laugh at him. He wondered if this feeling was just slightly close to the experience of that rabbit his father killed all those years ago in the garden; if this is what it must have endured. This whole Herbology partnership situation, Theo’s strange little comments… he felt the same, reluctant acceptance of that rabbit, the slow, reluctant understanding that he was stuck in a situation he couldn’t get out of, and the voyeurs around him took sick pleasure in his entrapment.

Fortunately for him, if there was one thing that mollified these feelings, it was the fact that he was still a Slytherin. Draco was a snake, not a rabbit. And most importantly, he was not _weak._

He was confident that he could be slippery enough to get out of this unyielding vice because if there was one passion Draco had, one talent he prided himself in, it was his ability to force the things around him to bend to his will.

He’d find a way out of this. His father once told him that if you put a snake in a prison cell, it would slither out right between the bars. It may seem like an awful situation for now, but it was only because he hadn’t really tried to escape it yet.

But even the inner turnings of the gears in his mind couldn’t drown out the sound of a third pair of shoes clicking against the floor, a pair of feet moving at a faster speed than his and Theo’s.

“Draco!” a quiet, higher-pitched voice exclaimed as he tried to hurry his pace. A girl’s voice, a voice that made goosebumps rise under his skin despite himself. “Draco, wait a moment!”

He tried to continue on, but Theo grabbed his arm and abruptly stopped both of them in their place. Baring his teeth at his friend, Theo merely smirked and tightened his grip. Reluctantly, he slowly turned around and saw Clara Diggory herself, walking briskly up to him with a bounce in her step as she grinned at him as if she was reuniting with an old friend.

“Draco,” Clara said, a little breathy from her attempt to catch up to both boys. She looked at him, finding her mind suddenly blank as she tried to find the words she wanted to say, and her mouth opened and closed several times as she blinked up at him. Standing awkwardly, her fingers wrestled together in front of her as she looked at the blonde, whose face was screwed up in agitation as he faced her. “Oh, and um, hi, Theodore.”

Theo gave her a brief wave, and Draco felt his body flood with irritation.

“Did you _need_ something, Diggory?”

“I just wanted… I just wanted to say hello,” Clara said unsurely, her cheeks turning bright pink at the stupidity of her reasoning. Draco watched her impossibly- large eyes blink at him, and an awkward silence filled the air.

He felt a migraine closing in on the sides of his head, and his fingers found their way to rub the tension from his temples.

“You chased after me to say… hello.”

“…yes?”

With a loud sigh, Draco narrowed his eyes at her and turned away. “Merlin, bloody Hufflepuffs,” he muttered as he started to walk off again, poignantly ignoring Theo’s look of amusement as his gaze flickered from his friend to the girl standing closely behind him.

Clara’s eyes widened, and she caught up to him once again. “Wait, wait! I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to _just_ say hello,” she blushed.

“You should know that this is an _incredible_ waste of my time-“

“I just- “

“I don’t know what you’re playing at- “

“ _You’re my partner!”_

Draco rose an eyebrow at the girl, whose face continued to grow rosier and rosier by the minute and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Yes, I’m aware of our current predicament.”

“It…It’s a predicament to you? Because… i-it’s not to me. Really, it’s not.”

_What the bloody hell did that mean?_ Draco thought to himself. _Of course it was a predicament- they couldn’t be more different, he hated Herbology with every fiber of his being, he knew he’d fuck this up and he didn’t need Clara fucking Diggory feeling bad for him, he didn’t want to be anywhere around the silly girl with her dumb big eyes and her even dumber smile._

“And I just… I just want you to know… even though it doesn’t look like we have much in common, a-and you don’t like the class… I… I-I’m looking forward to working with you, Draco. That’s all. That’s all I wanted to say,” Clara blurted out, her lip worrying between her teeth as she looked at him with a hopeful expression. Some of the tension left his shoulders at her words, suspicion replacing his irritation as she seemed to answer his internalized concerns without even so much as uttering a sound. Was he really that transparent, that she could tell how he felt about their partnership even though he hadn’t even said anything?

Taking a step closer to her, Draco leveled Clara with a cold stare as his mouth mustered itself up into a frown. “As I said before, this is an incredible waste of my time,” he growled out. “We both know that we would prefer to work with someone else. I don’t need you to kiss my arse and act like we’re both not being forced against our wills to do this.”

Clara assessed him with an appraising look, her eyes slightly narrowing as her head tilted slightly. A brief beat of silence broke out between them, and her hands rested on her hips as her mouth pursed. “You’re the smartest Slytherin fourth-year,” she said seriously. “No offense, Theo.”

“Oh, don’t worry, none taken.”

“And I’m… I’m a decent enough student in my house, and I’m quite alright at Herbology, if there’s any truth to what Professor Sprout has told me.”

Draco snorted. _Modesty is_ _incredibly_ _déclassé_ , he thought snidely. _She knows that I know she’s one of the best students in our year, yet she has the nerve to mock me right to my face. This is getting downright strange._

A slight smile broke out on Clara’s face, and she beamed at him. “So with that being said,” she said a little more confidently. “I think this could actually be a worthwhile collaboration. I… I think you and I could do a fine job together this term. I’ll pull my weight, and I’ll make sure we do everything that needs to be done.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Draco said with a bored tone, sighing as he looked around to make sure no one saw them talking. Instead, he was met with the manic grin of one hysterical Theo Nott, whose eyes flickered between them like a cat watching two mice. His jaw ticked at the sight of the dark-haired boy, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Listen,” the blonde continued, his voice tenser than before. “We’re stuck together, and there’s obviously nothing we can do about that, but don’t confuse this for anything more than for what it is. Don’t speak to me unless its Herbology related, don’t look at me, and do your best to keep out of my way and I’ll keep out of yours.”

Clara flinched, but not as if the words themselves pained her, but more like he was speaking at too high a volume. The waver in her smile disappeared within seconds and much to his dismay, she gave him another one of those knowing, assessing smiles, and nodded. “Sure,” she said in a tone he couldn’t decipher. “Since that’s obviously what you _really_ want, of course. Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. See you in class, both of you.”

“It was nice talking to you, Clara, I’m sure we’ll be seeing _much_ more of you, Draco and I,” Theo replied, oozing that Slytherin charm out from every pore as he watched her leave. Clara grinned and nodded back at him. “I think so too.”

As soon as she walked far enough away, Draco turned to his friend. “Don’t,” he bit out warningly. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Oh, _Draco.”_

“Shut. Up.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Theo said cunningly. “I’m afraid you’ve been _caught.”_

* * *

That next evening, Draco would just so happen to find his way out to the lawns outside of the Entrance Hall, sitting high up in a tree with a green apple as he kept a careful eye on his new Herbology partner. He wasn’t stalking her of course, no, not at all. He was merely being vigilant about the Hufflepuff girl who seemed disappointingly unafraid of him- she was obviously up to something, and he hoped he would catch her in some nefarious act that would prove that she was just as strange as he thought her to be.

He’d report it back to Theo, who had been sending him too many wicked grins for comfort and tell him of his findings. Maybe then he could finally convince his friend he wasn’t… he wasn’t _fond_ of Clara, but that his inner suspicions about her behavior were valid and he’d finally be hailed as a hero if he caught her in the act. For dismantling the schemes of one of Harry’s acquaintances, no less.

Draco took a large bite out of his apple, one of his legs lazily perched up on a branch as he continued to watch them high above the ground. He had always enjoyed climbing trees, and as a young boy, he had spent quite a bit of time testing his own abilities to see how far he could go. He thought that perhaps if he kept climbing and climbing, he would reach the clouds and he’d finally be too far away from the life that awaited him down below, too far to get back down and go home. A part of him also rather enjoyed the invisibility of it all- he could sit and watch with a careful eye at all of the little ant-like people back on the ground and for a few minutes, he wouldn’t be Draco Malfoy. He’d just be a bird, a floating apparition, where no one could see him looking down on all of them. 

Instead of being met with Clara Diggory and some malicious plot of hers, he was met with the girlish giggling of her and the blonde Hufflepuff she was always with as they sat on a blanket and threw grapes into each other’s mouths. It was childish at best, and Draco found his eyes rolling more than once as he kept a focused gaze at the pair. He couldn’t help but notice that the natural athleticism Cedric had inherited somehow completely evaded his younger sister, if her aim was anything to go by. Clara’s friend was all but a few feet away from her, yet she launched grapes at the poor girl in every direction but into her mouth.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Clara landed one right between the teeth of the blonde girl, and both of their eyes blew open wide as they gasped. “You did it!” the girl told her excitedly, chewing away on the fruit as she clapped her hands. “Of course I did, Hannah,” Clara said in mock confidence. “How could I miss that _huge_ target, after all?”

Hannah let out a bark of a laugh, taking a long-discarded grape from beside her and launching it at her friend. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “If my mouth is so _huge,_ how did you manage to miss a million times in a row?”

“Sorry, I was completely blinded by your absolutely _dazzling_ pearly whites, I couldn’t see where I was throwing.”

“Or maybe you’re just a shite thrower!”

Both girls giggled incessantly at their jokes, and Draco found himself waiting for one of them to land the inevitable jab that would push things too far and force them into a heated argument, in the same direction “kidding around” among his own group of friends always seemed to go. But somehow, Clara and Hannah merely playfully slapped at each other as the bowl of grapes fell over onto the grass, going unnoticed by the pair.

It was obvious in that moment that Hufflepuff friendships were clearly very different from Slytherin friendships. Very different, indeed.

Draco finished his apple, and with a lazy wave of his wand, turned the core into a leaf and watched as it floated down below as to not attract any unwanted attention. The sun was setting earlier these days as the cool, autumnal weather invited itself to Hogwarts, and the foliage was already starting to turn into a myriad of colors as the warm weeks of summer had long since disappeared.

“Ced is putting his name in for the tournament in a couple of days,” Clara said mournfully, her hands roaming over her long, black robes as she stared down at the blanket. “I’m still half-convinced to try and stop him.”

That caught Draco’s attention almost immediately, and once again, his focus narrowed in on the girls sitting on the grass below. _Stop him?_ Draco thought to himself. _That stupid bloody tournament is supposed to be even more of an achievement than any Quidditch match at Hogwarts. Why wouldn’t she want him to put his name in?_

Hannah let out a sigh and patted her friend’s hand comfortingly. “You need to stop worrying about it,” she told her. “There’s still quite a bit of time before anything’s decided… and besides, you know he’d do an amazing job if he was chosen.”

“I know he would, and I’m not worried that he’d do poorly. It wouldn’t matter if he won or lost, I don’t care about any of that.”

“Then what is it?”

Clara’s palms pressed into her eyes, but she shook her head and looked up at the blonde with a smile. “Nothing,” she said, her voice doing little to conceal her concern. “You’re right, there’s other things we should worry about, this should be the last thing on my mind.”

“Clara…”

“No, you’re right. It’s his decision, and… and if he’s chosen, he’ll do wonderfully. Like you said.”

Their conversation drifted, roaming from one insignificant topic to the next, until both girls decided to head into the Great Hall for dinner. Clara wrapped up the blanket under her arm, her face still pinched in worry as she forced a smile onto her face while Hannah skipped off in front of her, complaining about some assignment in Potions class that Draco couldn’t find himself caring enough about to listen to.

His thoughts concentrated on Clara’s frown, the way that the heaviness she wore contradicted the lightness in her words as she talked about Cedric and the tournament. Not unsupportive of her brother, not quite. But reluctant nonetheless, wary in a way Draco couldn’t quite understand.

Later that evening, as he sat next to Theo and Blaise at the Slytherin table, Draco found himself unable to keep his gaze off of the sickly, pale pallor on Clara’s face as she sat beside her brother.

And for just a brief second, their eyes met. This time, he thought inwardly, in place of the smile she wore the other night, her expression was an indecipherable one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is up! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!!!


	6. Better a Witty Fool Than a Foolish Wit

The feelings came first.

They started when Clara was around six years old, and she hadn’t noticed that anything was amiss at first. She had a close-knit family- it was only natural that she could tell that her father had a bad day at work before he came through the door, and that her mother was sometimes hit with a bout of melancholy so strong it made Clara’s head hurt, even if she acted like she was happy. She could feel Cedric’s sleepiness in the mornings if he didn’t get a good night’s rest, Mum’s delight when Dad brought her flowers on Sunday mornings, and Dad’s anger when he watched a particularly bad game of Quidditch.

It was as natural as breathing for her; she thought it was normal. She bet Cedric and Mum and Dad could feel her emotions, too.

The age of six was a difficult one for Clara- she was an emotional child, “sensitive” as her Mum often called her. Her own emotions became more complex with her age, and her incidents of baby magic grew into accidental flareups common for a witch as young as herself that terrified her anyway. Pulsing headaches, cracked windows, and big, fat tears rolling down two chubby cheeks were nearly a daily occurrence, but she was soothed by her parents and her brother with pieces of toffee and cuddles. After all, some children were simply more emotional than others, and Siobhan and Amos assumed that she’d grow out of this phase as she matured.

The thoughts came a little later.

_It was the middle of July, and the sticky-hot days of summer dragged on almost tauntingly as Clara patiently awaited her eleventh birthday. But finally, after what felt like years and years and years, July 16 th had finally arrived, and she was able to celebrate her special day with some of their family friends in the brand- new dress Siobhan Diggory had bought for her daughter solely for the occasion. The lavender tulle fabric billowed out around the little girl elegantly, and her mother had told her countless times throughout the day to stop spinning in circles in order to ward off a headache. _

_But a headache came anyway, and her eleventh birthday resumed outside in the garden as she laid in her bed with a wet cloth laying across her forehead. Grey eyes were shut tight as cool droplets from the cloth spilled onto her face, curtains had been drawn to a close, and the only sound in the room was the gentle brushing of her mother’s hand in her daughter’s dark, wavy locks and the soft singing of an old, Irish lullaby._

_Siobhan looked down at Clara as she sat beside her, a wistful feeling rising on her check as she ran her fingers through her child’s hair. A sense of familiarity and recognition wrapped around Clara like a blanket, and the young girl felt the distinct aura of something bittersweet graze her skin just as gently as her mother’s touch._

_“_ You remind me so much of Marlene _,” Siobhan whispered._

_Clara’s eyebrows furrowed, and she blinked up at the ceiling before turning towards her mother, whose face was dour with a woeful expression. “Mummy,” she replied as the throbbing sensation in her temples started to pound against her skull aggressively. “Who’s that?”_

_“Who’s who, darling?”_

_“Marlene.”_

_Siobhan’s hand stilled entirely, and her body paralyzed with shock as she looked at her little girl. “What did you say?” she asked her daughter quietly, her face pale and devoid of any color that was there. Clara blinked again; her face mustered up in confusion._

_“Marlene. Who’s that?”_

_As if her forehead had suddenly burst into flames, Siobhan flinched as if she’d been hit, and her hand recoiled away from her as Clara attempted to sit up in her bed. “Where did you hear that name?” she choked out, her throat bobbing as she forced herself to swallow. “Clara darling, where did you hear that name?”_

_“Mummy, you just said it. You just said ‘Marlene.’”_

_Grief replaced shock and confusion, and Clara’s head continued to pulse painfully as her mother looked at her in horror. She had never seen her look at her slack-jawed liked that, she had never seen anyone’s eyes gaze at her in a way one could only describe as haunted._

_“No I didn’t, Clara.”_

_“Yes, you did. You said I reminded you of Marlene. Who is she?”_

_Siobhan’s mouth fell open and closed, her hands shaking as they folded in her lap. “Clara,” she said heatedly, attempting to remain calm despite the overwhelming feelings sinking in her chest. “You’re not in any trouble, but I’m asking that you don’t lie to me. Now, where did you hear that name? Who said that to you?”_

_Clara’s eyes widened and welled up with tears, complete disbelief filling her as she stared back. “Mummy, I just heard you say it. When I was laying down, you said it to me.”_

_“No, I-“_

_“Yes you did!” Clara exclaimed loudly, her hands flying up to her temples and grabbing at her hair. “Yes you did, Mummy, I heard you! You did say it to me,” she cried._

_The discernable sound of the window cracking broke through their tense standoff, and the girl moaned as she gripped at the sides of her head in terrible pain. Siobhan quickly stood up and adjusted the curtains as she assessed the damage done to the glass pane, and she moved her way back to her crying daughter. Two strong hands pulled Clara back down to her previous position, and she found herself laying on her pillow as tears fell into her hair while she clenched her eyes shut as tightly as possible._

_“Hush, hush my love,” Siobhan told her, the anger still palpable in her voice despite her attempts to pacify her pained child. “You need to calm yourself.”_

_“But-!”_

_“No,” her mother interrupted seriously, her eyes wild with a mix of emotions. “You need to rest now, darling. And I don’t ever, ever want to hear you say that name again, do you understand? It’s important that you never do.”_

_Clara glanced up at her, pushing past the pain radiating through her skull to try to make sense of her mother’s reaction. It was then when she looked into a matching pair of slate-grey eyes that she realized her mother was not in fact as angry as she sounded, instead the dark-haired woman felt something equally as alarming, something strangling and vice-tight that made the little girl swallow thickly._

_Fear._

_Not anger, but fear._

Like an unused muscle, the early signs of Clara’s legilimency atrophied into something weak and unstable; an unreliable skill she could only ever use when she pushed herself to focus in a way she rarely ever did. The terrified look in her mother’s eyes never quite left her memory, and deep inside her own mind, a startling correlation between her ability and the feelings of hurt and fear and horror festered itself in her chest like a wound. By the time she came to Hogwarts and was able to make sense of what she really was, the roots of something painful had already cemented itself into her heart. She never wanted to hurt anyone the way she had clearly hurt her mother that day, and as the years went by, the only mind Clara could read that didn’t belong to Cedric or her parents was the occasional loud, stray passing thought from a stranger.

Yet the most intuitive part of her legilimency, the outskirts of the skill that manifested in a seemingly heightened empathy for the people around her, grew into something more manageable. It grew into something useful, a talent that didn’t feel nearly as invasive or upsetting as probing the inner workings of one’s mind.

But still, weakened, atrophied muscle or not, her legilimency was still there. Clinging to her limply and weighing her down, it persisted.

* * *

Clara sat at the dinner table next to Cedric, her fingers rubbing at her temples as she tried to ward off the incoming migraine even though she knew there was little she could do about it. Her plate went untouched, her favorite meal of chicken and leek pie getting colder as the minutes passed by and her fork merely pushed it around the dish. Cedric looked at her concernedly, his finger poking her in the cheek in an attempt to make her laugh. She met his gaze with a weak smile and waved his hand away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her quietly. “You love chicken and leak pie.”

“Just a bit of a headache, I think,” she replied wearily. Cedric’s eyebrows furrowed together, and he looked around conspiratorially as he leaned in. Before he could even open his mouth, Clara shook her head. “It’s not… it’s not _that,_ don’t worry. I think I’ve just overworked myself.”

Truthfully, Clara knew exactly why her head was starting to hurt. It had nothing to do with her legilimency, it had nothing to do with the hundreds of Hogwarts students eating and talking and thinking and feeling all around her… it was actually Cedric himself. The part of her mind that was so intertwined with his, the way she felt all of his emotions without even thinking twice about whose they were, was aching as his own nervousness pushed against her frayed senses.

“It’s barely a week into school.”

“Fourth-year is going to be a rough one, I can already tell.”

Cedric nodded, his fork shoveling a chunk of roasted carrot into his mouth. “’Ave anythin’ to do with _Malfoy,_ maybe?” he asked casually, his words muffled from his chewing and barely comprehendible as he ate. “I heard about Herbology.”

Clara blew out a breath and pushed her hair away from her face, shaking her head. “Who told you about that?”

“A blonde little birdie.”

With a sigh so irritated and exhausted even Hermione would have been proud, Clara whipped around slowly to face Hannah, who merely grinned weakly at her and raised her arms questioningly. “I didn’t know it was a secret!” she said quickly. “It just kind of came up in conversation.”

“Well, it doesn’t have anything to do with him, I’m just tired,” Clara assured seriously, her fingers tapping against the wooden table. Cedric looked at her with an expression that was all-too knowing for her comfort, a look that would have made Clara shirk under his gaze if his cheeks weren’t distended like a chipmunk. “Come off it,” Cedric said teasingly. “I know you like the back of my hand. Something’s bothering you.”

“Can we… change the subject, maybe? Anyone else do anything interesting today? Anything at all?” Clara said distractedly, opening the conversation to the people around them as she desperately looked for an escape. Luckily, Susan Bones, one of Clara’s roommates who rarely ever spoke unless spoken to, piped up uncharacteristically. “I… I’m thinking about joining Herbology Club,” she stammered out painfully; the dreamy, melodic lilt of her Irish accent immediately caught Clara’s attention.

“Really?!” Hannah said in disbelief, her eyes wide. Leanne Foxglove and Tilly Talpin, their other two roommates who often hung out with the girls in the year above were friendly enough, and Hannah and Clara were obviously bosom buddies. But for the last three years of living together, Susan had remained cautiously quiet in the background, her eyes always wide and watching even if she didn’t utter a word.

“I… I mean, only if that… um… would that be… are you doing it again, this year?” Susan asked unsurely. Clara immediately launched her hand across the table as a wide grin broke out across her face. “Oh yes, Susan, that would be wonderful! You’d be a perfect fit, you’re so good with the Moondew plants in the greenhouse. Maybe we can make our own butterbeer at the end of term.”

Susan’s cheeks bloomed bright pink and the slightest flicker of her otherwise tightly screwed mouth made Clara beam; the redhead toyed with the end of her auburn plaited braid nervously as her eyes flickered up to meet Clara’s across from her. “Yeah,” she replied in a forced-casual tone. “That’d be… that’d be great.”

The good news was enough to make Clara’s headache wane a bit, but just as she was about to continue the conversation, she felt a sharp pull on her hair and her head was wrenched backwards in a way that was becoming all-too familiar. Her smile immediately disappeared, and her mouth fell open in annoyance. “ _Merlin!”_ she scolded angrily, her hands flying up to her dark locks. “Ernie Macmillan, I _swear-“_

Ernie and Justin sat further down the table chuckling, the blonde-haired boy twirling his wand around nonchalantly as he gave her a beaming smile. “What?! It wasn’t us!”

Clara narrowed her eyes and gave them the meanest scowl she could muster, sending both boys into a fit of laughter as she pouted. Justin stuck out his lower lip mockingly, rubbing playfully at his eyes as he feigned crying. “Aren’t we a bit old to be pulling pigtails?” Hannah said exasperatedly, her voice filled with irritation as she glanced at them with a raised eyebrow.

“C’mon, don’t be a craic killer,” Ernie replied with a smile. Hannah rolled her eyes and patted at Clara’s head comfortingly, both girls sending the boys dirty looks. “Gosh, you’re both worse than a pair of mosquitoes,” Hannah bit back.

“Hannah! _Hanns._ Don’t be so angry, love, it was all in good fun.”

“Any _way,”_ Clara said with a huff, spinning around to face Cedric in an obvious show of defiance as she turned her back to the snickering buffoons on the other side of the table. “You should join Herbology Club, Ced. It’s not as bad as it sounds, really, and you have a lot more time now that the Quidditch thingy’s been canceled.”

Cedric grinned at her. “The _Interhouse Quidditch Cup,_ you mean? You know, just the _thingy_ I’ve been playing in for the last six years or so.”

“Oh, you know what I meant.”

“Well, I may not have that much time after all. With the Triwizard Tournament, and all.”

Clara grimaced, but schooled her features as she watched her brother avert his eyes nervously. “I know it’s a long-shot… being chosen, I mean. But I still don’t want to have any serious commitments if it happens, that’s all,” he assured quietly.

Suddenly, one of Cedric’s Quidditch teammates Clara vaguely recognized to be Will Bucket, a good friend of her brother’s with blonde hair that stuck straight up as if he’d been electrocuted and a slight gap between his teeth, popped up behind Cedric and slammed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “ _Long-shot!_ Yeah right, he’s getting in that tournament, I know it!” he exclaimed cheerfully, his clasp shaking her poor brother as he tried his best to swat him away.

With a confused tilt of her head, she looked at Will confusedly. “It’s picked randomly, Will… we have no idea who’ll get picked.”

Cedric turned red, and his lips pulled into something tight as he looked down at the floor. “Maybe we don’t… but some of us are trying to… _improve the odds,_ so to speak,” Will charged on with a smirk and another shoulder slap.

“And how are you planning on doing that, exactly?”

Will looked positively mischievous as he leaned in, his lips curling in delight as if he was happy she’d asked. “Let’s just say the pool of choices got a _little_ smaller, at least on behalf of the eligible Hufflepuff boys.”

Clara’s eyes widened, and she immediately glared at her brother. “Cedric,” she muttered in shock. “That’s not fair!”

“I didn’t ask them to do that, Clara… you know I’d never tell people not to put their name in. I want to get in on my own, you know that,” he replied, sounding slightly hurt at the implication that he’d do something so self-serving.

Will came between the siblings, the devious expression on his face mustering into something more genuine as his eyes flickered from one Diggory to the other. “Look, it’s not like we’re… _cheating,_ exactly. And plus, we’re refusing to put our names in of our own free will. No one’s been asked to do anything,” he explained.

Clara found herself floundering; the idea that the pool of possible selected tournament players slimming and therefore raising her brother’s chances felt like ice water running down her spine as she realized just how serious everyone was taking this damned competition. “But…but…!”

“Clara,” Will said calmly. “Your brother… well, he’s the best candidate this school’s got, to be quite frank. And he _deserves it,_ wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, of course I _agree,_ but- “

“So as his _friends,_ as his _teammates,_ we want to support our buddy, Clara. And that means we want him to get a fighting chance. It’s not like we’re actually helping him win, he’s got to do that all on his own. We just want to help him get a shoe in the door. It’s the Hufflepuff thing to do.”

Clara averted Cedric’s pleading eyes and nodded stiffly, her mouth screwed up in something that was probably meant to imitate a smile but looked more like a frown. Regardless, Will slapped his hand down on her shoulder roughly, seemingly convinced that his less-than reassuring explanation had changed her feelings of reluctance.

Something clawed at her, and slowly Clara felt the tingling sensation of being watched dance across her skin. Goosebumps shot down her arms, and gazing upwards, she looked straight ahead and made eye contact with a silvery blonde Slytherin.

Draco Malfoy was staring. He was staring _at her._

Their eyes met, and for just a second, she felt like he was staring straight through her skin and right into her soul as he watched her. His face was stony but not cruel or unkind, just studying as if she was a particularly difficult arithmancy equation he didn’t understand. It wasn’t the first time Draco had looked at her like this, in fact, only three years ago on their very first day at Hogwarts, he had given her a similar look twice within just a few hours of each other.

But still, she squirmed in her seat as she broke eye contact. Somehow, she felt like she’d just been caught. In what, exactly, she didn’t know.

* * *

Clara fidgeted in her seat; the chair next to her vacant as she sat in the Herbology classroom as Hannah sat behind her. Ernie and Justin were luckily sitting across the room far enough away where she didn’t have to worry about anyone pulling her hair or kicking the legs of her chair.

Fifteen minutes early. As per usual. Nothing unordinary, not yet.

“I’m going to boke,” Hannah whispered from the desk in back of hers, her foot tapping nervously against the floor. “Is it warm in here? D’you feel that, Clara?”

“Hannah, please, please calm yourself,” Clara replied quickly, her voice short as she stared straight ahead. “If you can’t, I’m going to have to change seats. I can’t bear feeling your nerves on top of mine right now, not here.”

Hannah had the sense to blush, knowing how sensitive Clara was to her closest friend’s heightened emotions. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I just… Promise me this isn’t going to be terrible and this is all a very good idea?”

“I can’t promise you that,” Clara said as she turned around in her seat, extending her hand to clasp over Hannah’s folded ones. “But I _will_ promise you that regardless of what happens in class today, we can take a blanket outside and sit on the lawn and stuff our faces full of toffee while we have a great, big cry. Now _that,_ I am absolutely sure of.” Both girls exchanged grins, one smiling in reassurance while the other smiled in relief.

Speaking only slightly too soon, Clara heard the screech of a chair next to her.

She slowly turned around, her fingers grazing the tabletop as she tepidly gazed over at her partner, who was completely ignoring her presence as if she wasn’t even there. Clara hadn’t spoken to Draco since she ran into him in the Great Hall where she made a great fool of herself, turning red and stuttering and stammering over every word as the blonde looked at her stoically. He had been cold and callous, and he even openly referred to their partnership as a “predicament,” a word that had wormed its way into her head every time she even thought about Herbology.

And while his words had been unkind and unfeeling, the emotions that rolled off of him had been anything but. Draco spoke harshly and delivered each sentiment with a sense of frustrated conviction, unwilling to treat her with any respect. But his emotions had floated from careful curiosity to something more painful, something not unlike hurt. It confused her greatly seeing as she had barely even spent enough time with him to have offended him, yet the boy clearly felt that she had wronged him in some way.

Curiously, when she stood before him and tried to open her mind to his and hear his thoughts, she had been met with a flurry of nonsensical thinking at a surprisingly loud volume. _Don’t want you feeling bad for me,_ he had thought so loudly it made Clara flinch. _I’m not that terrible, I’m not as terrible as you think and I don’t want you to think I’m terrible at all._

And then Draco’s mind had shut a door right in her face, and the vulnerability of his thinking had gone completely silent. Clara had never experienced anything like that before.

She hadn’t told anyone about the interaction. She wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Hi, Draco,” Clara said warmly, trying to project confidence into the softness of her voice. Draco sat perfectly still and continued to face forward, forcing an awkward silence to commence between the Slytherin and the Hufflepuff. She restlessly rubbed her thumb across the inside of her palm in her opposite hand, her eyes flickering up from the table to the side of Draco’s head as if he was a wild animal ready to strike.

A light tap poked Clara in the shoulder from behind, and she turned around again with questioning eyes. She figured Hannah would be in a catatonic state at this point, unable to further communicate her distress from the mere presence of Slytherins in the room, so she spun around quickly. Instead, she was met with Theodore Nott’s wicked smile and piercing dark eyes, his chin propped up in his hand as he tilted his head to the side. “Hi, Diggory,” he said casually, his voice slicker than oil as he lazily twirled his feather quill between his fingers. “Excited for Herbology, I presume?”

“Yes, I am,” Clara replied, her eyes quickly scanning over to Hannah who watched the scene before her with wide eyes. “Are you?”

Theo mocked a pout and wrinkled his nose. “No, not really, if I’m being quite honest,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, sounding playfully exhausted. Clara swallowed roughly. “I’m not too good at Herbology, you see. It’s a Slytherin thing, I think, y’know?”

“Really?” she asked, her voice betraying her nerves as she became more and more uncertain as to where the conversation was leading. “I… I’m sure you’re better than you think.”

Theo had the gall to tilt his head cunningly, his brows drawn as if he was confused even though his eyes told her he was quite sure of himself. “Ugh, you ‘Puffs,” he said sweetly. “Always the flatterers, you are. But no, I’m actually quite terrible at it. I just don’t have that… green thumb your house has, I suppose.”

Clara could have easily told him a million reassurances, the same reassurances she gave to many a Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in years past about the plant-based course. _“No one’s a natural with Herbology,”_ she’d tell them, her voice soft and her smile kind. _“It’s just like any other class, I promise. All it takes is some hard work and a little bit of love, and you’ll get the results you want. The plants don’t care about what you are, they care about what you do.”_

But instead her eyes flickered over to Hannah’s once again, whose discomfort was palpable as her partner continued to confess his lack of talent for the subject. Clara could see the cogs turning in her friend’s head; she’d probably have to do a great deal of each assignment on her own as Theo sat back and watched. “Well, you’re in good hands!” she said instead, trying to sound cheerfully optimistic. “Hannah’s quite good with Herbology, so I’m sure you’ll both do a good job together.”

Theo looked at her with an amused smile as Hannah’s eyes flashed at her warningly, but Clara merely met her with a patient gaze as she refocused back on Theo. “And how about yourself, Diggory? Is my friend _Draco_ over here in good hands?”

Clara flushed and sucked in a low breath, Theo’s words full of implications she didn’t quite understand. She glanced over at the blonde, who gave his friend a death stare so dangerous it made a shiver go down her spine. “Y-Yes,” she assured, her eyes flickering between both boys. “I… I’d say I’m quite good, as well.”

“You hear that, Draco? _Diggory says you’re in good hands.”_

Draco leaned forward, his teeth bared. “Shut up, Nott.”

Hannah and Clara exchanged wary glances, but just as Draco turned around and Theo sat back in proud satisfaction, Professor Sprout walked into the classroom. “Oh, good! I’m glad most of you are here a little early. We’ll be heading to the greenhouse in a few minutes to begin our first assignment.”

“ _Terrific,”_ Draco grumbled under his breath, only loud enough for Clara to hear. Her jaw ticked at his words, and she almost started to regret not taking Professor Sprout up on her offer to switch partners if they happened to have any… problems.

But then again, he hadn’t exactly said or done anything problematic just yet. Making snippy comments was hardly enough of an offense to completely switch partners.

As the rest of her classmates slowly filed in, Clara found herself once again fidgeting in her seat nervously at the climbing tension between the Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins as they mournfully adjusted to their new partners. Professor Sprout pulled on her gardening gloves as she took attendance, her eyes surveying over her green and yellow-clad students. Clara made the mistake of looking over at Ernie and Justin, who looked equally miserable next to Blaise and Pansy. Justin caught her wandering gaze and sent her a weak imitation of a smile, which she tried her best to return.

As she looked in her friend’s direction, Ernie’s partner, Pansy Parkinson, turned to her with narrowed eyes. Clara’s own eyes widened, and she immediately tried to give the girl a small smile. Pansy met her with a hard look, but her face was otherwise blank. Her mouth was set in a tight, thin line, and Clara hurriedly turned her head to face forward again.

“Bubotubers,” Professor Sprout told them all, her gloved hands clasped together and her eyebrow raised as if she was expecting to hear complaints. “They need squeezing. You will collect the pus- “

“The _what?!”_ Draco interrupted loudly, his face screwed up in disgust. Professor Sprout gave him a warning look, her nostrils flaring as she looked at the boy. “The _pus,_ Mr. Malfoy. It’s extremely valuable, so it is imperative that you don’t waste a single drop. Now, this is a time- consuming process as some of the boils can be particularly hard to burst, however, you will have until next class to get it done. There are bottles in the greenhouse waiting for you to put the pus into for Madam Pomfrey, as it is an excellent herbal remedy. And you must, you absolutely _must,_ wear your dragon-hide gloves. Bubotuber pus can do all sorts of funny things to the skin when undiluted.”

An audible groan rushed from the mouths of several students both Hufflepuff and Slytherin alike, and Professor Sprout immediately cut the complaining off with a critical look. “Many of you are in luck,” she said proudly. “Some of our students here already have experience working with Bubotubers. As I said, they can be quite difficult to work with but not at all impossible, which is why we work with them in fourth- year and not before. However, some of my dedicated students in Herbology Club, I’m sure, would be happy to give a helping hand to anyone that needs it.” Professor Sprout looked over at Clara warmly, and the dark-haired girl shrunk in her seat as someone behind her attempted to cover up a laugh with a cough.

From her periphery, she saw Draco look at her with an annoyed expression, and her cheeks turned pink.

This was going to be a long, _long,_ year.

* * *

While Clara herself was not the biggest fan of Bubotubers- they smelled like gasoline once they’d been popped and the green liquid that emanated from the swellings on each plant left a lot to be desired, there was no doubt it was slightly therapeutic.

If only her partner felt the same way.

“Bloody hell,” Draco whined bitterly as he tried to look away from the Bubotuber and squeeze a swelling at the same time. He held onto the plant like he was trying to strangle it, his gloved hands holding it with a tight grip as if he was scared it would run away. “This is disgusting.”

“It’s… not that bad…?” Clara told him unsurely, watching her partner fail to burst the pus from the plant once again while he growled in frustration. “Here, you should probably- “

She reached out towards the Bubotuber but Draco quickly spun away from her, determined to do his portion himself and unwilling to accept any help from Clara, even though it was clear she had more experience. “Just…just stay over there!” Draco snapped, shaking his head. “Your bloody hair is getting all over me.”

Clara’s cheeks darkened and she looked at her hair- while it was shorter than it had been last year, it was still quite long, but she didn’t understand what he was talking about. “What? What do you mean, my hair is all over you?”

She hadn’t even stood that close to him, after all.

Draco waved his dragon-hide glove-covered hand around in the air in aggravation, his teeth clenched as he continued to keep his distance. “Your bloody _hair,”_ he bit out. “Can’t you… I don’t know, put it away, or something?”

“I… I didn’t bring a hair tie.”

“ _Merlin!”_ Draco exclaimed angrily. He lifted his wand from his pocket and aimed it right in Clara’s face, making her eyes widen dramatically as she took a step back. Draco rolled his eyes and huffed in irritation. “ _Crinus Muto,”_ he uttered. In seconds, Clara’s hair yanked backwards and pulled itself into a tight braid down her back, and her hands quickly flew to her head as she felt the slight tingling sensation of the grooming charm. She looked at him with wide eyes, partially confused and partially flattered at his quick thinking.

“Don’t you people learn grooming charms in your house? Probably not… actually that makes a lot of sense, thinking about it.”

And the sense of flattery disappeared.

“I… thank you,” Clara said carefully, her brain short-circuiting from the quick change of emotions. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“Yes, that was obvious.”

“Well…thanks, anyway.”

Clara looked over at Hannah, who actually looked surprisingly at ease as Theo held the bottle for her while she squeezed the pus inside of the glass. Hannah looked up at her and smiled, and not so discreetly, pointed at Theo and gave Clara a big thumbs-up. She grinned back at Hannah, happy that at least someone wasn’t having a miserable time.

She also looked over at Ernie and Pansy and felt slightly comforted by the arguing pair. Pansy was sitting cross-legged on her stool, critiquing her partner as Ernie begrudgingly squeezed the pus from the plant all by himself.

At the very least, Draco insisted on doing his own share. Even if it was to the detriment of the assignment.

Draco let out another annoyed huff, and Clara stepped closer to him once again. “I… I can help you, you know. We’re partners after all.”

“If I want your help, I will _ask_ you for it. Now please leave me alone so I can _focus._ ”

Clara had a hard time believing that.

Nevertheless, she returned to her work, moving at a much faster pace than Draco but still having a lot more to do. They resumed in silence.

“Alright class,” Professor Sprout announced loudly, calling for everyone’s attention. “We’re going to have to finish for today, as you are due for your next class any minute now. As I said before, you have until next class to finish the assignment, so please coordinate with your partner accordingly so you can complete the rest of your pus-collection.”

Draco slammed the Bubotuber back on the greenhouse table and ripped off his gloves dramatically, his face screwed up in frustration as he looked at how little he accomplished throughout the last two hours. He had barely done anything at all, and even though Clara had more work to do, she had made incredible strides in comparison to his weak attempts.

She turned to him cautiously, not sure of how to ask him how he wanted to proceed since everything she said and did seemed to annoy him. “So…would you…”

“I don’t have any preferences, Diggory. We can return to this whenever you have time in your _very busy schedule_ ,” he interrupted sarcastically, not meeting her eyes as he adjusted his robes. Clara bit back a comment and smiled weakly. “Would you… want to do this before dinner this evening?”

“I don’t _want_ to do this at all.”

Clara could have stomped her foot in annoyance. Why did he insist on being so _difficult?_

“Okay… would you be able to do it before dinner, then?”

“Absolutely not. Doing this before I eat will completely kill my appetite.”

“After, then. Does that sound good to you?”

Draco looked at her for a moment as Clara waited for a reply, and he let out a long, withstanding breath as he glanced up at the greenhouse ceiling. “Fine. Right after dinner. Please do not be late, this is already messing up my daily routine.”

“Um…okay.”

Without another word, a bell from the castle signaled the end of the class, and Draco took off. Clara sighed as she watched him leave, feeling at a loss as he practically flew out of the greenhouse. She let out a breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding, and she felt someone bump her side.

“You alright?” Justin asked, his face unreadable as his eyes followed Draco and his swift escape from Herbology. Clara looked up at him and nodded, not trusting herself not to burst out and talk about how rude he was throughout the entirety of the lesson, grooming charm or not.

“Mhmm,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice. Hannah came up and joined them, her smile wide and crooked as she glanced between them. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she said quietly as Theo waved goodbye to all of them, much to Clara’s surprise. “But he actually isn’t _awful.”_

“Not yet, anyway,” Justin said shortly. “Blaise didn’t speak to me _once.”_

“I don’t think he’s the talkative sort,” Clara replied. “From what I can tell, anyway… he’s always just kind of…”

“…there?”

“Yes.”

The three of them walked out of the greenhouse, Ernie running slightly behind as he cleaned up their workstation all by himself since Pansy had long since disappeared from class. The Hufflepuffs had Transfiguration next, a welcome reprieve from their more-than stressful Herbology lesson. “Theo and I got most of our work done, thankfully,” Hannah said happily, the anxiety that had once riddled her about the Slytherin had disappeared. “We had a lovely conversation, actually.”

“Oh? What about?” Clara asked as Hannah hooked their arms together, the cold fall air making the blonde girl’s cheeks ruddy. “Mostly, we talked about you.”

“ _Me?!”_ Clara sputtered, shock overtaking any sense of curiosity. “Oh no, Hanns, what did you _say?!”_

“Nothing! Nothing _bad,_ at least. Theo was just saying Malfoy was actually looking forward to working with you.”

Clara didn’t know Theo very well… she actually didn’t know him at all, but it was clearly a lie and he didn’t even need to be here for her to know that. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Well, that’s what he said anyway. But overall, working with him wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Hmm,” Clara responded lightly, her thoughts roaming. “I… I don’t really know what to do about…about Draco. It… didn’t go nearly as well as things went with you and Theo, quite honestly.”

Justin’s head whipped towards her, his eyebrows furrowed. “He’s giving you trouble already?” he asked seriously. Clara shook her head. “No, not… not _really._ I just… I don’t think he’s that receptive to working with me.”

“What an _arse._ He should be so lucky, you’re a top student in Herbology,” Justin grit out. “Who do these Slytherins think they are, anyway? What has a Hufflepuff ever done to one of them? We are constantly undermined, even though we aren’t any different from any of the other houses, and just because we…”

Clara allowed Justin’s voice to fade out of her thoughts, her own mind fixating over how she was supposed to work with Draco when Professor Sprout wasn’t supervising. He’d surely be worse without anyone around, wouldn’t he?

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Hannah piped up, her hand toying with the end of Clara’s hair. “I don’t remember you putting your hair in a braid today. It looks rather nice on you.”

Clara couldn’t help but groan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!!!


	7. Those Who Rush Stumble and Fall

Draco had a piano once.

It wasn’t unusual for a child of his breeding to learn an instrument- it was all within what Pansy sarcastically called the “Pureblood Package,” otherwise known as the private tutoring, the stuffy clothes made of fabric just uncomfortable enough that a child could hardly move enough to play; it was the French lessons and riding Abraxan Winged Horses and perfectly coiffed hair and learning to be silent and out of the way.

It would take years before Draco learned how to be quiet, before he learned how to sit and observe silently, before he learned that secrets were a form of currency. But as a child without much better to do, he had become quite good at playing piano.

Looking back, he couldn’t remember if the piano had always been in Malfoy Manor or if his parents had bought it specifically for him, but he could barely remember a time before the grand piano sat in the music room of Malfoy Manor. As soon as he could walk and talk, he would be sat on a too-high bench with his feet dangling, his tiny fingers stretched out over ebony and ivory keys. Occasionally, his mother would ask him to play for their guests, and he begrudgingly played the same boring pieces every time.

His piano instructor, a half-blood his father only hired because he was considered one of the best teachers in the wizard world, was a strict but tender-hearted man who ignored Draco’s whines and big, watery eyes, and forced him to learn all of the wizard classics. Composers like Porpington, Oswald, Goosander and Colibiri had become the bane of Draco’s existence- every piece felt flavorless and stiff and unwavering.

_“I don’t like any of these pieces,” eleven-year old Draco complained, his bottom lip jutted out in protest as he crossed his arms across his chest. “They’re_ boring.”

_“Not boring,” his instructor told him. “You’re just too young to appreciate their genius. One day, you will and you’ll thank me.”_

_“Not likely. I want to learn something else. Something better.”_

_The instructor let out a sigh and with a cautious, conspiratorial look, his eyes scanned around the large music room for any voyeuristic house elves or family members. Seeing none, he craned his neck down to look Draco in the eye. “Well,” he started quietly, swallowing down the sense of danger. “I do happen to know a few pieces that might be to your liking. They’re a bit more…fun, perhaps.”_

_Draco nodded excitedly, relief flooding his senses as he looked over at his instructor curiously. “Yes! Can we?”_

_The instructor waved away Draco’s hands from the keys, and began playing an expressive, vivid piece the boy had never heard anything like before. The beginning started off as a quiet, staccato piece that crescendoed into something warm and sweet, and something about the music made Draco think of wintertime even though the weather had just started to turn crisp outside and the winter season was months away._

_The grey-haired man finished the piece, and Draco urgently tugged on his arm. “What was that?” he exclaimed. “I want to learn it. You must teach me, you must!”_

_“It’s called “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” and it’s from a ballet. I’m glad to see you enjoyed it, I thought you might.”_

_“There’s no such thing as sugar plum fairies,” Draco said incredulously. He’d never heard of such a thing- his mother had used Fairies as Christmas lights for their tree, and his father found them quite annoying. His instructor smiled and looked down at his lap._

_“Well, no…but you need to use your imagination. That’s what the ballet is all about. Do you want to know what happens in the play? You musn’t tell anyone about it, you know. It’s a secret,” the instructor teased, his eyes stern._

_“Yes!”_

_The instructor cracked his fingers, and played the same piece over again, but much more softly. “Well, the ballet is about a little girl named Clara who receives a toy nutcracker… it’s a little toy that looks like a soldier that cracks walnuts and chesnuts and the like. None of the other children like the toy nutcracker, but Clara does. But her big brother breaks it, and the little girl is heartbroken. However... when she goes to sleep at night, the nutcracker comes alive. She’s the only one who can see him.”_

_“And then what?” Draco asked him._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“What happens after it comes alive?”_

_“Well, in one version, the nutcracker fights in a war against an evil mouse king, but Clara saves him because he’s still wounded, you see. The nutcracker turns into a handsome Prince, and then they travel to the Land of Sweets, a magical, beautiful place run by Sugar Plum Fairies.”_

_“And the other version?”_

_The instructor smiled at him, and replayed the piece again, even softer and slower than before. “Well, in the other version, the nutcracker is about to be taken prisoner by the mouse king. Clara saves him, but she is hurt very badly, and the mouse king tells her that he will break the nutcracker into pieces unless she gives the king everything she has. Clara makes the sacrifice to the mouse king because she loves the nutcracker very much.”_

_Draco sat quietly, his fingers grazing over the piano keys. “And then they fall in love?”_

_“Yes,” the instructor replied. “And because Clara loved him so much, the curse on the nutcracker was broken, and he turned into a prince. Then, they lived happily ever after.”_

A few days later, Draco played the piece for his parents, and accidentally told his father about the sugar plum fairies and the story about a little girl named Clara, who fell in love with a broken doll no one else liked, and he never saw his instructor again after that.

The piano disappeared just as quickly.

And as Draco sat in the music room at Hogwarts, not for the first time while his godfather loomed in the doorway and listened, he liked to think that playing the piano was no longer about playing boring songs by even more boring composers. He played what he wanted, when he wanted, as loudly as he wanted, and there was nothing about the way his long fingers touched the keys that aligned with anything remotely close to the Pureblood Package.

In the colorless, drab, pureblood world he lived in, Draco’s choice to play the piano secretly and quietly had become his own idea of a revolutionary act.

* * *

Draco tapped his foot impatiently, his hand curled around his silver pocket watch as the oil lamp in front of him cast eerie shadows around the greenhouse.

Clara Diggory was running late. Was he shocked?

Frankly, yes.

She was usually at least fifteen minutes early no matter where she was going, whether it was to class or to the Great Hall or her brother’s Quidditch games. Not that Draco ever watched her coming and going, he was just a keen observer who happened to notice things like that.

His jaw ticked as another minute went by, the stupid Bubotuber plant sitting in front of him as a mocking symbol of all the time he was wasting.

“Sorry!” Clara’s voice rang out from two glass doors fenced in by long vines of ivy. Her robes flew out from behind her, her yellow and black tie askew as a stray lock of dark hair lay in front of her face. Her hands were full of something Draco couldn’t make out from the dark shadows of the humid, muggy greenhouse. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to run late, I lost track of time at dinner, and then I had to pick these up from the Hufflepuff kitchen since I forgot them... and then Cedric wanted to know where I was going so I told him, then he insisted on walking me here since he said it was getting dark and- “

“It’s fine,” Draco interrupted. “Let’s get this over with already.” He couldn’t help but notice her hair was still tied in a braid, and smirked internally.

As she bounded up to him, the smile wavered on her face and something more wary took its place. A smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she thrust forward something wrapped in cloth and baker’s twine. “Here!” she said as she pushed it into his arms.

Draco eyed the item suspiciously, his eyes flickering from the off-white baking linen to a pair of wide, slate-grey eyes. Clara stood in front of him with her hands clasped together under her chin. “What is this?”

“Unwrap it and look.”

“What? No.”

Clara frowned, looking particularly put out by his answer. “Oh, come on,” she urged as Draco set the strange item on the table, his mouth screwed up tightly. “Just… just look in it. I promise it’s not going to bite you.”

With an exasperated sigh that slowly evolved into an irritated huff, he pushed the object away from him as he started to pull dragonhide gloves over his hands. _Ridiculous,_ he thought to himself. _I’m not wasting anymore time._

With a petulant roll of her eyes, she pulled the package by the baker’s twine over to her and unwrapped it. Underneath the cloth lay a plate of fluffy, round disks with brown spots. Draco’s mouth might have watered, but he wasn’t sure.

“Chocolate chip cookies,” Clara told him proudly. “I thought… I just thought it would make this Bubotuber business a little more bearable. I know you have a sweet tooth.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do,” she said with a light grin. “Someone always owl’s you sweets at breakfast. Obviously you like them, if someone keeps sending them to you.”

Draco frowned, his eyes narrowing at her. “What are you, stalking me?” he asked suspiciously. Clara’s face turned rosy in the dim lighting, her jaw dropping in embarrassment. “No!” she protested. “It’s…it’s hard not to notice something like that, I mean… you get owl’s all the time, more than anyone, really… anyway. I wasn’t sure what you liked, of course, but I figured chocolate chip wasn’t a bad way to go, my mum always says everyone likes chocolate chip… so- “

“Diggory,” Draco bit out, effectively interrupting her from her ramble. “Why would I want to eat anything, when I’m literally about to squeeze the most vile substance I’ve ever seen out of this stupid fucking plant?”

Clara’s face fell, and she seemed to flounder as she racked her brain for an answer. “Well... you could always save them for later,” she replied quietly.

“Not interested.”

A silence fell between them, and Draco hurriedly began to prepare the Bubotuber in front of him. Forming his fingers into pinchers, he squeezed at one of the warts on the wretched plant as he averted his gaze from Clara’s. An uneasy feeling made its way into his gut as he watched the dark-haired girl frown next to him; a strange, churning of something sour festered in the lower pit of his stomach.

They resumed their work quietly, the scratching of their tools and the clinking of glass bottles were the only sounds echoing throughout the greenhouse. Clara worked as diligently and successfully as she had earlier in the day, however Draco noticed there was a hesitance to her movements as she squeezed pus from the Bubotuber into bottles. It was as if he was a wild animal; she hesitated before reaching into their shared space for supplies like she was afraid he’d bite her hand off.

The uneasy feeling grew. And so did his frustration.

“ _Merlin,”_ Draco snapped for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour. The pus had exploded all over his workstation, a stark difference from Clara’s clean one as she careful pinched the Bubotuber and effortlessly transferred the pus into the medicine bottles. His fingertips ached from his efforts, and he felt half-tempted to get up and leave without another word. He had made embarrassingly little progress, and between the aggravation of his task, his anger that he was being bested by a _Hufflepuff,_ of all people, and that sickly feeling in his stomach, he could feel his face heat furiously.

“Just ask,” Clara said quietly, her eyes looking down at the table and her expression unreadable. Draco stared at her, his hands stilling as he prepared to extract the pus for the umpteenth time.

“What?”

“Ask,” she repeated in the same even tone. “You said if you needed my help, you’d ask for it. So just ask me.”

“I don’t need your bloody help.”

Clara huffed. “I have eyes. You’re struggling. Let me help you.”

Draco hesitated and made the mistake of glancing up, and felt his face flush as he was met with a pair of earnest eyes. No sign of malice or impatience, she wasn’t mocking his lack of talent. She had made a clear offer, and he would be stupid to turn it down considering he’d be there all night if he continued at his pace.

“Fine...you can help,” he grumbled begrudgingly, pushing the plant over to her. Clara’s eyebrows raised in surprise before she quickly schooled her features, and she pushed the plant back over to him slowly. Draco let out an angry breath, his hands curled at his sides. “You just said you’d help me!”

She gave him another patient look, and he suddenly felt like a scolded child as seconds ticked on and she stood silently. Letting a slow breath out through his nose in an attempt to calm himself, he looked back at her with a noticeable set to his jaw. “Will you… please… help me,” he said between clenched teeth, every word sounding like he had been forced to ask against his will.

In seconds, Clara’s indecipherable expression morphed into a lighter one, and she took a step closer to him. “Why, of course Draco, I’d be delighted to.”

His eye twitched.

“But I’m not doing it _for_ you,” she told him seriously, sounding every bit the star student and unfortunately for him, a bit like Granger. “This is a joint project, which means we both do our work together. That requires _both_ of us to do it.”

Throwing his hands up in the air, Draco looked over at her with an exasperated expression. “Well then, you’re not helping me at all, are you!” 

“Doing the project _for you_ is not helping. You wouldn’t be learning anything if I took over for the both of us.”

“Oh, like that bloody matters. It’s fucking Herbology, for Godrick’s sake, not N.E.W.T. level potions. I don’t even give a shite about this stupid class.”

Clara rubbed at her temples and shakily exhaled, her eyes closed as her mouth twisted into something tight and pained. “Could you… could you please calm down? Why don’t you have a cookie?”

“I don’t _want_ a cookie!” he snapped. “I want to get this over with!”

“And we _will,”_ she assured quietly, taking a step closer and extending the pair of extractors he had thrown onto the table back towards him. “Look, I’ll lead by example, alright? And then you can do it, and then you’ll do it after me. Hasn’t anyone ever done that for you before? Surely, someone has.”

Draco’s thoughts immediately flashed to his half-blood piano instructor from all of those years ago; long, gnarled fingers spread across keys slowly and patiently in an effort to show the pureblooded little brat that he was how to play songs like “The Goblin of Godric’s Hollow” and “Salazar’s Suite.” A sort of melancholy sorrow followed this memory- it had been so long since anyone had shown Draco how to do anything one-on-one in years, so long since anyone had offered to help him. 

He blinked as he cleared his thoughts and looked back up at his partner, who looked at him with a contemplative expression as her head tilted slightly to the side. His cheeks reddened at the awkward silence and he took the extractors from her hands, averting his gaze. “Fine,” he grumbled. “I hate this stupid plant.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Clara grinned, taking her own pair of extractors and holding them up playfully. “So here’s what you have to do…”

* * *

By the time both Clara and Draco decided to finish up for the day, Draco had made a substantial amount of progress in comparison to where he was before while still having far more to do. Despite the swiftness in the Hufflepuff’s transfers from plant to bottle, Draco’s hands moved much more clumsily behind the thick material of the dragonhide gloves, and he had moved at an incremental pace in order to satisfy the requirements of their task.

Clara volunteered to clean up as Draco put their plants on a table with the rest of their class’s Bubotubers, her wand moving lazily as she _scourgified_ their workstation and put their gloves away in the gardening cupboard. “See?” she said with a smile, wiping her hands in satisfaction as she assessed the rest of the greenhouse. “Not that bad, right?”

“We didn’t even finish,” Draco replied lowly, his foot kicking at a stray rock on the wooden plank floor. “I never want to see another bloody Bubotuber again.”

Clara laughed. Well, that’s unfortunate,” she said, her voice remaining as annoyingly optimistic as it had throughout the last few hours. “Because we’ll have to do this all again tomorrow!”

“ _Hooray.”_

“Oh, cheer up,” Clara insisted. “Don’t forget about your cookies, by the way. I’ll try to bring something else tomorrow.” She pulled the greenhouse door open for the both of them, and Draco rolled his eyes at her as he stormed out. “I’ve already told you, I don’t want- “

As he walked outside, he was surprised to see the familiar face of a tall, dark-haired boy with an infamously chiseled jaw Pansy had wooed about far too many times for comfort. He smiled broadly, his eyes bright as Clara bounded up to him and playfully poked him in the face.

The words died quickly in his mouth as Draco looked up at the much taller, broader, more muscular Cedric Diggory batting his little sister’s hands away. “Go away,” Cedric told Clara with a laugh. “Your hands smell like an open flame.”

“It’s from the Buboubers!” she whined petulantly. “My hands smelled like chocolate chip cookies before I got here.”

“ _Chocolate chip cookies_?” Cedric asked with wide eyes. “Did you- “

“No,” his sister interrupted. “For fourth-year Herbology buddies only.”

Draco felt his stomach twist at her words, and Clara back at him with a small smile and rosy cheeks. Cedric groaned and closed his eyes in disappointment, his face twisted sadly. “Are you serious? You didn’t save any for me?” he mourned.

“No! Stop complaining, Merlin, I can make them for you another time.”

“But why not _this_ time?”

“Because they weren’t _for_ you!”

Draco stayed completely silent as the siblings bickered, unsure of how to make a hasty exit seeing as they were heading in the same direction. Cedric looked over at the wrapped package of cookies in his hands longingly, and feeling more than a little uncomfortable, he held it up to the older boy with the hopes that Clara’s brother would take it off his hands.

Clara’s eyes flashed as she followed her brother’s sad gaze, and she pushed the cookies back into Draco’s chest. “ _No,”_ she said slowly. “Those belong to _you._ Cedric, stop staring!”

“Did you use Mum’s recipe?”

“...”

“Oh, _come on_!”

“Stop embarrassing me!” she huffed. _Why is he even here, exactly?_ Draco thought to himself, trying to block out the conversation since it clearly did not involve him.

As if she could sense Draco’s confusion, she pointed at a yellow and black badge with a silver letter “P.” “Sorry, I should have said something earlier. Ced’s taking me...or I guess, both of us, back since he’s on-duty and didn’t want us walking all alone in the dark.”

“All the more reason you should have saved me some cookies,” Cedric mumbled to himself. Clara narrowed her eyes at him, and just as she opened her mouth, Draco interrupted her. “I can walk back by myself,” he said haughtily. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

Cedric bit out a laugh. “Well, that makes one of you.” Clara immediately slapped him in the arm, and their squabbling resumed as they walked up the hill and across the lawns.

Luckily, it was a short enough walk, and Draco sighed in relief as they parted ways and he practically flew to the Slytherin dormitories in an effort to get away from the Diggory siblings. Waving him off with a goodbye he didn’t bother to return, he smoothed his robes with his hands as he approached the door to his shared room, trying not look nearly as disheveled as he felt.

As his features schooled from irritated confusion to something carefully passive, his mouth immediately contorted into an annoyed frown as he saw two large goons waiting outside of his room and another smaller and only slightly more tolerable idiot staring them both down. A deep exhale whistled out of him as he rolled his eyes, and Draco shoved his hands in his robe pockets.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at him with a mixture of relief and bewilderment, and both boys faced away from a very upset Theo as they eyed their leader. “Oh good,” Theo said in a flat voice. “You’re finally here. Now, can you please ask these parasites to lick your boots elsewhere? I can hardly sleep with the sound of ape-like breathing outside the door.”

“Shut up, poofter. Nobody was talking to you,” Crabbe growled out, his arms crossed across his chest. Theo raised an amused eyebrow, his mouth lifting into a twisted smirk as he cocked his head. “I’m impressed, Vincent… I didn’t think you knew that many words in the English language.”

“I know plenty of words I can call you, you fa-”

“All of you, shut up,” Draco snapped. “What are both of you doing here?”

“Where’ve you been? We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Goyle questioned, looking at Draco as his face scrunched up in puzzlement. “Yeah, you wasn’t anywhere you usually go… we checked,” Crabbe added.

“None of your bloody business,” he bit out in reply. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed. I’ve had an abnormally long day.”

“Doing what?”

“Where?”

Draco blinked. “Are you _deaf?_ He asked incredulously, appalled at their badgering. “What is this, the _Spanish fucking Inquisition_? For Godrick’s sake, go to your dormitory. I’m alive and well, thank you _very_ much for your concern.”

Theo hummed contentedly as both of Draco’s minions sent the blonde one last suspicious glance and started on their way back to their room, their heavy footsteps pounding against the stone floor as they walked away. With dark, narrowed eyes, he looked over at his friend wearing the same twisted smirk, his back leaning against the wall casually. “You keep _such_ good company, Malfoy,” he said sardonically.

Draco huffed. “I keep you around, don’t I?”

“I suppose so. I understand the whole “I-need-minions-to-consolidate-my-power” thing you’ve got going on, but please spare me from Frick and Frack, if you can. It takes forever to get rid of the smell.”

“I’ll keep your suggestion in mind.”

“Speaking of terrible odors and _company,_ ” Theo said salaciously, following Draco inside their dormitory lazily as the other boy shrugged off his robes, set down the package of cookies, and started towards his wardrobe. “I can’t help but notice that you smell an awful lot like our Herbology assignment. And what’s that there, on the bed? Are those… a pastry, of sorts?”

Draco stomped his foot and whipped around to face Theo, who was now collapsed in the throws of his bed. “So you know something about all this, then,” he said between clenched teeth. “Piss off.”

“Oh come on,” Theo whined. “Be a good mate and share whatever Diggory brought you. I’ll tell you everything Abbott and I talked about in class today if you do.”

“Who?” Draco replied nonchalantly.

“Don’t be daft, Draco,” the dark-haired boy sing-songed. “As if I haven’t seen you sitting up there, perched in that tree, watching Diggory and her gaggle of little girlfriends discuss flowers and sunshine and whatever else Hufflepuffs chatter on about.”

Unfortunately, Draco didn’t have a clever retort to that, and instead he stared at the wooden drawers of his wardrobe as he floundered for words. A sick feeling churned in his stomach and he rummaged through a drawer, simply for something to busy his hands with. “Anyway, give ‘em here. I’ll even try not to laugh as I divulge my _precious information.”_

“And who says I give a shite about anything you have to say?” Draco grit out, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

“Because you do and you will. Especially since I know for a fact that everything I’m about to say comes straight from the source. I mean, there’s really no reason for Abbott to lie, since she’s still quite terrified of me for some reason.”

Slamming the drawer shut angrily, Draco craned his neck over his shoulder and with a flick of his wand, the package of cookies made its way over to Theo’s bed. In a flurry of excitement, the boy tore open the cloth and twine. He shoved his hand inside and immediately stuffed his mouth with a chocolate chip cookie, and a satisfied moan escaped his throat as his eyes rolled backwards. “ _Morgana’s left tit,”_ he said in surprise. “That’s bloody good. Maybe Hufflepuffs _are_ good for something.”

“ _Continue,_ please,” Draco seethed. “I’m waiting.”

Theo grinned widely, his lip jutting out in a mock pout. “I thought you said you didn’t care.”

“ _Theodore!”_

“Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Theo said as a trail of crumbs fell from his lips, his hands already reaching for seconds as he flopped back on his pillows. “Abbott and I had _much_ discussion about one Clara Diggory.”

“And was she suspicious as to why?”

“Goodness, no. I’m a master manipulator, Draco, please give me some credit.”

Draco nodded as he cleansed himself with cleaning charms, his nightwear laying on his bed as he stripped off his tie and shirt. “So apparently, they’ve been up each other’s arses since first year, blah, blah, blah… Diggory’s obviously a very good baker, her and Abbott are both the top girls in their year for their house…”

“I thought you said you acquired information? This is just observations and public knowledge, you prat,” Draco exclaimed. Theo held his hands up in defense. “ _Patience, patience!_ I’m trying to remember everything. She talks _a lot_ once you get her going; lots of stuff to weed out.”

“Get on without all these boring details, already!”

“Well… we got to talking about Quidditch, you know, a safe subject. Abbott’s a fan but she doesn’t play, but Diggory really doesn’t care for it. Kind of strange, isn’t it? Since Cedric is, like, arguably the best player in all of Hogwarts.”

Draco’s eyebrows scrunched together, and he failed to see how any of this information was significant. It didn’t really satisfy any of his deep-seated curiosities about the girl, and nonsense about Quidditch really wasn’t what he was looking for. He was less than impressed with Theo’s investigative abilities, to say the least.

“And she’s pretty bloody awful at it, too. No idea how the game works, can’t play for shite, that sort of thing.”

“Abbott said that?” Draco asked, surprised that such harsh words would leave the mouth of what he assumed was a rather quiet, studious girl. Theo barked a laugh and shook his head. “I’m trying to de-Hufflepuff-ify it. “Not her strong suit” was what she actually said, which is what I assume is Hufflepuff-speak for absolutely terrible.”

“Hm.”

“Somehow we got to talking about the World Cup, since we were on the topic of Quidditch and all. Cedric and their father, they went, you know.”

Even the mere reference to the event made Draco feel sick inside- what had begun as one of the most exciting days of the year had ended in the crushing disappointment that his father had not, in fact, turned over a new leaf and decided to invest himself in his son’s interests. As he should have expected, and as he should have known, Lucius Malfoy rarely did anything without some kind of underlying scheme rationalizing his decisions. His father had not taken Draco to see the Quidditch World Cup.

He had taken his son to an open slaughter, he had taken him to see what it felt like to see real fear.

Draco didn’t sleep well that night. Or the night after that…or the night after that.

Sometimes, the screams of the crowd reverberated through his skull like a punishment. He wondered deep down if they were really father and son at all, despite their similarity in physical appearance. Because he could still feel the constricting of his throat as bile threatened to climb up his esophagus, he could still feel the way all the blood left his face as he heard the terrified sobs of small children whose hands had slipped from their parents’ in the chaos of the attack, the smell of fire filling his senses. Lucius Malfoy had grinned at the madness he helped create, while his weak, pathetic excuse of a son nearly lost his dinner in a nearby bush.

Truthfully, he couldn’t remember if he’d seen the Diggorys at the World Cup, and he didn’t feel like revisiting his memories of that night if he could help it.

“Well, they were there supporting Ireland. Not very surprising, I mean, who the hell was going to support Bulgaria? Besides Krum, the entire team is atrocious…but anyway, Abbott said Diggory’s dad used to be on the Hufflepuff team here, too. A seeker, just like Cedric, she said, and helped Hufflepuff win the Inter-house Cup one of the only times in the last century,” Theo explained, his voice trying to hint at something Draco couldn’t understand.

“None of this is remotely interesting, Theo.”

“Well, I figured if you wanted to continue your stalking routine, that’d give you some information to go on. Also, Diggory’s mum? She’s Irish, and I couldn’t exactly tell, but I think their dad is pureblooded, so your little crush might be, too. Which is good news, I’m assuming.”

Draco flushed bright red and felt his jaw tick at Theo’s implication, and he glared at him from across the room. “Shut the fuck up,” he snapped. “I do _not_ have a _crush,_ and I would mind the way you speak to me if I were you. _”_

“We’ve already been over this, Draco. Your lies need a lot of work.”

With a roll of his eyes, he leaned over to blow out the candle on his nightstand to get ready for bed, but Theo’s voice stopped him abruptly in his steps. “Oh, and one more thing,” Theo said giddily. “She’s apparently quite optimistic about your partnership. Nothing but good things to say about you when anyone asks, that sort of thing. So maybe pull the stick out of your arse and be a little bit less of a dick when you’re working with her. I might have mentioned something about your knack for sweets.”

Remaining silent, Draco blew out the candle and after quickly changing into his nightclothes, he climbed into his bed and stared up at the ceiling as Blaise and Marcus returned from the common room to settle in for the night.

The only sounds in the room were the soft huffs of Theo’s breathing and the scraping of paper as Blaise turned the pages of a book he was reading. For some reason, the stillness in the atmosphere clawed at Draco’s nerves, and he found himself tossing and turning once again.

His thoughts roamed over to Theo’s words. He couldn’t really remember if he’d ever heard his father mention the Diggorys, and they certainly weren’t one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But there were Pureblooded families that didn’t make the list, and even some families that were among the twenty-eight last names that most certainly had Muggle blood somewhere in their lineage. And to have not one, but two Hogwarts-famous Quidditch players in her family was certainly a sign of good breeding.

Not that any of that mattered.

Because he did not like her, nor was he interested, and he did not care about Clara fucking Diggory.

He didn’t want to get to know her or find out more about her family or look her last name up in the Hogwarts archives in the library. Not at all. And if his thoughts strayed to the latter part of Theo’s babbling, the part where he inferred that Clara didn’t seem to despise him or feel absolutely terrified of him, it was only because he was curious about it. But he didn’t really _care._

Impulsively, Draco threw his covers off of him and crossed the room over to Theo’s dresser. Feeling around for the familiar cloth packaging he had held in his hands only a while before, his hand scrambled inside of the fabric and grabbed at a cookie. He carefully folded the cloth back over as if it had never been touched and he walked back to his bed, quietly slipping under his sheets with a cookie in hand.

If he just so happened to think it was one of the best bloody chocolate chip cookies he’d had in a long time, then that was a thought he’d keep all to himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review! It has been so great to hear from so many of you, I am looking forward to reading your thoughts and comments! Sending lots of love!


	8. As Madmen Do

_Twelve-year-old Clara Diggory sat in Dumbledore’s office with her hands clasped firmly in her lap, her eyes focused intently on the stone floor beneath her as her throat constricted, thick with emotion._

_She was in trouble. She was sure of it. She’d never been in real trouble before, not ever, and she was terrified of the terrible awful consequences that awaited her. Mum and Dad would send her a Howler for sure, and she’d never live down the embarrassment of being the first Diggory to be yelled at by a Headmaster._

_Her big, grey eyes welled with tears that threatened to fall and her lip warbled, but Clara did her best to act grown-up as her spine straightened in her chair and her feet crossed like her Mum had taught her. The adults were talking around her like she wasn’t even here, and for once, she couldn’t be bothered to listen as she prepared herself for her fate._

_“Miss Diggory,” Professor Dumbledore said calmly, his voice low and croaking with age. Clara continued to look at the floor. “Do you understand why you’re here? Why we would like to speak with you?”_

_The tears Clara had tried so hard to suppress broke free, and she shoved her face into her shaking hands as she wept. “I’m s-s-sorry,” she apologized profusely, ignoring Professor McGonagall’s comforting hand on her shoulder. “I really, really am. I was just… I didn’t… I just-“_

_“Miss Diggory, you are not in any sort of trouble, my dear. Not at all,” Dumbledore interrupted patiently, his eyes kind as he looked at the small, dark-haired girl before him. “In fact, I’d like to extend my congratulations to you, Clara. You have a very rare and extraordinary talent that very few witches and wizards have, you know.”_

Talent, _Clara thought to herself sadly._ I’d hardly call being nosy a talent.

_“A natural-born legilimens,” Dumbledore continued, his tone lilted in fascination as he smiled. “I’ve only known of a few in my time…legilimency is a talent so few of us in the wizarding world ever truly harness, even as just a mere spell. You are very unique, Clara, and there is nothing wrong with being unique. In fact, being unique is a wonderful thing to be. Helpful, even.”_

_The words were certainly meant to lift her spirits, but the troubled look on Professor Snape’s face in the corner of the room and the slightest sense of nervousness that filled the Headmaster’s office told her differently. “I didn’t mean to do it,” Clara said again, even more quietly than before. “I… I couldn’t be sure. I’d never heard something like that before. It… it was really loud.”_

_“The voice in Harry’s head, you mean?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“This voice you heard... did you hear what it said, exactly? Or what the voice sounded like?”_

_Snape’s eyes shot to hers, sending her a warning but otherwise indecipherable look in his cold, dark eyes. Don’t say anything, his eyes said, even though his mind was disturbingly quiet. Say nothing at all._

_But truthfully, she did know what the voice said, and what it sounded like. It was a voice that had chilled her to her core, a voice that she had never heard inside of her friend’s mind before. Not that she ever really looked or allowed herself to listen._

_There was a voice in Harry’s head that sounded mean and scary and wanted to rip him apart, wanted to tear him open…the voice wanted to kill him._

_Instead, she shook her head and hoped she was able to convince the adults around the room that she was telling the truth. “No,” she said softly. “Just that it scared me. And that it wasn’t Harry. It…it was in his head, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t him.”_

_Dumbledore sent a wary glance over to Professor McGonagall, who sat in the chair beside her. The sternness that usually filled the older woman’s features had given way to something akin to warmth as she tried her best to comfort the second-year girl, but she returned the headmaster’s look as Clara clumsily wiped away her tears with a kerchief. “Thank you, Clara. You have shown tremendous courage by coming to a trusted adult with your findings, and we are very appreciative that you’ve told us what you could,” Dumbledore told her seriously. She nodded tiredly, the compliment flying right over her head as exhaustion pulled at her._

_“It’s getting late,” Professor Sprout announced, rising from her chair and wiping at her robes. “I think it’s best we let Miss Diggory get to her dormitory for the night. This has surely been a taxing day for her.”_

_“I’ll walk her down to her room,” Professor McGonagall said immediately, and she too rose from her chair. She squeezed Clara’s shoulder knowingly, and the girl shakily got to her feet in response. Professor Dumbledore stood and walked the Professor and his student to the large wooden door of his office. As Clara turned to leave with a nod, Dumbledore stopped her with a hand._

_Lifting her hand into both of his, he cupped her much smaller one in appreciation. “Thank you, Miss Diggory,” he told her. “Please know that I am eternally grateful for your help.”_

_Clara could barely speak, so she simply nodded as Professor McGonagall steered her out._

_Once the woman had long since left with the young second-year, Dumbledore turned to Professor Sprout and Professor Snape, his face serious. “A Legilimens,” he said languidly. “We should contact the Goldsteins, perhaps see if they have any resources to help Miss Diggory. She’s young still, her talent will need to be cultivated.”_

_“We need to talk to the Diggorys, first and foremost,” Professor Sprout replied sternly. “This is not information that should be disclosed with anyone beyond her family and the people in this room. This is a private matter.”_

_Snape whipped around to face the Headmaster, his face stoic and jaw clenched. “Yes…I agree with my colleague.”_

_“I don’t disagree,” Dumbledore acquiesced. “But this could also be advantageous for all of us. Perhaps, she could even alert us of any more of these- “_

_“No,” Snape interrupted coldly. “No?” Dumbledore challenged._

_“No.”_

_“And just why not?_

_A passive, neutral expression schooled over his features, and he looked away. “She’s a natural-born…but she’s weak. It’s only the slightest hint of any real talent… no amount of cultivation will ever help her progress from where she is now,” Snape explained coolly._

_Dumbledore analyzed him for a minute, his eyes narrowed critically as he looked at his peer for any sign of a lie. Seeing none that were obvious to him, he nodded hesitantly. “I trust your judgment, Severus,” he said seriously. “You would know best, out of everyone here.”_

_“I’ve looked into her mind,” Snape replied, his voice carefully devoid of emotion. “There is nothing of concern there. She’s merely a child with a slight inclination, no different. She will not pose as a problem for us, nor will she be of any use.”_

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts was not a class Clara particularly enjoyed, nor a class she ever looked forward to. Even when Professor Lupin taught her last year, who was arguably one of her favorite professors throughout her time at Hogwarts, she found herself riddled with anxiety before each and every class in fear of what the next lesson would be.

But there was a new professor this year, and her nerves grew tenfold as she remembered the strange, crazed man from dinner a few nights ago.

DADA was split into two large lecture sections among all of the students in their year. Most Hufflepuffs were in the earlier section in the week, but because of the scheduling of her Muggle Studies class, Clara wound up in the latter section that was largely composed of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. To her relief, Justin was also in Muggle Studies with her, and therefore was one of the few Hufflepuffs in the class.

“You look a bit barmy,” Justin said quietly, his mouth tilted up in a slight smile as he bumped Clara’s shoulder. They both took a seat smack-dab in the middle of the class, fifteen minutes early, as per Clara’s usual. “You alright?”

“Nervous…that’s all,” she replied casually. “New professor, new year. He looked a bit scary, I think, didn’t he? The new professor?”

“Suppose so. Hey… you excited for Cedric’s big day? He’s putting his name in the Goblet after dinner.”

Clara’s smile dimmed, but she nodded wearily. “Of course,” she lied. “I couldn’t be happier.”

Justin didn’t look as if he believed her, but he chuckled anyway. “Well, at the very least, we have our first Herbology Club meeting of the new term later. I’ve been looking forward to it, you know. Neville, Ernie and I…we’ve got some plans for this year.”

With an exasperated groan, she turned to him. “Please, _please,_ don’t get us into any trouble. After last year, with the greenhouse explosion and the pumpkin juice bath- “

“We won’t _._ Well… we won’t get _caught_ , anyway. Don’t worry, Madame President. We’d never try to get you in any trouble.”

“That’s hardly reassuring,” she replied sarcastically, a smile threatening to break from her lips. Justin’s mouth opened to say something else, but a pair of crooked glasses caught the corner of her eye and she practically burst from her seat. “Harry!” she exclaimed happily, whipping around to face the Gryffindor boy whose cheeks were currently burned scarlet.

She couldn’t help but notice he seemed sickly. Waves of confusion and distress emanated from his body as if it was calling for help, and his mind was muddled with indecision. “Hey Clara,” he said happily, his mouth smiling crookedly as Ron and Hermione followed closely behind him. “I didn’t think you’d be in this section.”

“It’s just your luck, then. How are you, Harry? You look a bit peaky… have you been eating? Sleeping enough? “

“Alright Madame Pomfrey, enough with the badgering. See what I did there? _Badgering?_ Like a badger?” Ron said as he waved away Clara’s concerns, pushing his bright red hair from his eyes. She punched him in the arm, but her eyes steadied as she looked at Harry. Pain rolled off of him in waves, and if the shadows under his eyes were anything to go off of, he certainly wasn’t well-rested. 

The rest of the class slowly filled in, and Clara sat back down in her seat as her Gryffindor friends found their way to the front of the room. She saw several of the other fourth-years she’d come to know over the last four years trickle into the classroom, but much to her surprise, she heard the distinct embittered tone she’d become quite familiar with in her Herbology class- the voice of an angry, silvery blonde in the back of the classroom. Craning her head, Clara looked over to the door and saw Draco walk in, Crabbe and Goyle panting after him. He plopped down in a chair with all the grace of an angry elephant, his head propped up in his hands in a bored fashion.

His silver eyes connected with hers, and he raised an unamused eyebrow. Clara quickly glanced away, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

The door to the class slammed open. Professor Moody limped in, his red hair disheveled and his dirty trench coat trailing the ground lazily. “Alistair Moody,” he said grimly, his wandering eye scanning over the class suspiciously. He turned his back to his students and faced the chalkboard.

“Ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You can put those away,” he bit out, motioning to the books several students had taken out of their satchels. “Those textbooks. You won’t need them.”

“A bit scary was an understatement,” Justin whispered to her. Clara motioned her head forward in the slightest of nods, paralyzed in her seat as the professor’s wooden foot stomped against the floor.

“I’ve a letter here from Professor Lupin that you’ve all had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures- boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, werewolves… correct?”

They all nodded carefully, the room intimidated into silence.

“But you’re behind…very behind, if I may add… on curses. When it comes to the Dark Arts, I believe in a…practical approach,” Moody said ominously, seeming to speak more to himself than his students. “First off, which of you can tell me about the Unforgiveable curses?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “There’s three of them, Sir.”

“And they are named as such _because…_?”

“Because they are unforgiveable. The use of any one of them will-“

“-Send you on a one-way ticket to Azkaban!” Moody snapped, effectively cutting Hermione off from her explanation. The chalk scraped painfully against the board, and Clara’s teeth grinded against one another at the harsh sound. “The Ministry says you are too young to see what these curses do. I say different! You need to know what you’re up against! You need to be prepared! And _you need to find another place to put your chewing gum besides the underside of your desk, Mr. Finnigan!”_

“No way,” Seamus whined quietly. “The old codger can see out the back of his head.”

Moody whirled around and threw his piece of chalk across the classroom, his face mustered in rage as it sailed over in Seamus’ direction, who moved out of the way in a second’s notice. Alarm invaded Clara’s senses immediately as the collective trepidation of the class plundered directly into her own feelings of apprehension, and she looked over at Justin, whose face paled at the Professor’s erratic behavior. 

“So…” Moody continued, pacing around on that stark wooden leg of his. “Do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?”

“My dad told me about one,” Ron answered nervously. “The Imperius Curse, or something?

“Ah, yes. Your father would know about that one, gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, it did…perhaps this will show you _why_.”

Professor Moody opened a glass jar on his desk and placed a spider in his palm, whispering a quiet _Engorgio_ charm so the insect would be visible to the rest of the class. The sound of several students shifting in their seats as the spider grew to an uncomfortably large size cut through the silence, and from the corner of her eye, Clara saw Justin’s hands fidget in his lap. “ _Imperio,”_ Moody said loudly. With a wave of his wand, the spider flew over to Seamus’ and Neville’s desk.

Laughter and playful screams erupted from Clara’s classmates as she sat nervously, her eyes never leaving the wild look on Moody’s face. As the spider jumped from one desk to the other, onto Crabbe’s forehead to Ron’s hair to Draco’s face, Moody laughed maniacally as he forced the creature to bounce around the classroom.

“ _Total control_ ,” Moody seethed lowly. “I could make it jump out the window… I could even have it drown itself…or maybe, I should make it throw itself down one of your throats…”

As Clara stared at her professor, a dark expression passed over his crooked features. Her mouth crinkled in confusion. There was a general unnaturalness about the man that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that set off her inner fight-or-flight as he paced around the classroom. The manic quality to his voice, the quickness in his demeanor… there was a defensiveness to his actions that couldn’t be explained as anything else but _wrong._

Like an alarm, her head went abuzz with all of her instinctual alarms. Clara narrowed her eyes and looked at Professor Moody critically- she opened her mind as much as she could, focusing on the shiftiness in Moody’s behavior and ignoring the spider completely.

Legilimency wasn’t exactly a science, or at least not for her. If a person’s mind was a hallway with several doors, all she felt like she could do was vaguely hear the sounds behind them until she opened one, hoping something would be loud enough to call out to her. But as she took the quickest peer into Moody’s mind, she quickly noticed that his mind was a mad scramble- an internal struggle warred inside of him; his mind was not a hallway but a complex catacomb of darkness and impatience. _Something is wrong,_ a tiny voice inside Clara muttered vehemently. _There’s something off, not quite right._

The strange gleam in Moody’s eyes gave way, and he adjusted his coat as he placed the spider back in his hand. Clara quickly snapped back into her own mind, breathing a little heavily as she tried to make sense of the discombobulated orchestra that was the professor’s thoughts and feelings. “Scores of witches and wizards claim they only did You-Know-Who’s bidding under the influence of the Imperius Curse…but here’s the rub. How do we know who’s telling the truth, and _who’s lying_ …? Come on, another, another. Longbottom, is it?”

Neville stood nervously, his eyes flickering from Moody’s to his desk. “There’s one… the Cruciatus Curse,” Neville said in a small voice. Staring at him intently, Moody nodded slowly and placed the spider on top of the desk.

“The Cruciatus Curse is particularly nasty,” he began, his mouth twisted into a smirk. “It’s also known as the torture curse.”

In a split second, the curse exploded from Professor Moody’s mouth, and the breath left Clara’s body as one of the spider’s legs contorted unnaturally. It began to seize in a horrifying side-to-side motion, clearly in agonizing pain as it rocked. She had never seen something so disturbing- the poor creature was screaming for help, it was as if its little mind knew only of pain and nothing else, and the professor seemed to enjoy every moment of it.

And Neville, poor Neville, stared at it vacantly, a horrified expression warming over his face as the spider continued to twitch and attempt to escape Moody’s cruel wrath.

In an action she could only describe as an unconscious one, Clara’s hands gripped her desk until her knuckles turned white as the rest of her classmate’s feelings of fear clawed at her like barbs. Her seat scooted backwards and scraped noisily against the ground, and she felt her breathing pick up as her mind raced.

It was too much. Everything felt like a crushing weight on her shoulders very suddenly, and her chest constricted painfully in time with the spider’s pained spasms. How much longer would this go on? How much farther would Moody go?

Seconds felt like an eternity.

_Please stop,_ she moaned internally. _Please, please stop. This is horrible, make it go away._

“Stop it!” Hermione yelled out, bursting from her chair bravely. “Can’t you see it’s bothering him?!”

Neville turned to Hermione, and as Clara caught sight of the haunted look in his eyes, a series of images spurred behind her eyelids like a charmed photograph. Loud, jarring thoughts in Neville’s head exploded towards her like a tidal wave. 

Sadness. Grief filled Neville’s mind as he stared at the spider, and a distinct sense of familiarity trickled through his thoughts like maple syrup. _Mum. Dad._ Screaming for mercy and clawing at themselves even though there wasn’t a threat to be seen. Begging, pleading for it to end- pleading for death, their eyes wild and crazed and tortured.

With a sharp inhale Clara came back into herself, and as she looked at Neville’s haunted eyes and her mouth fell open. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. _Oh Neville,_ she cried mentally. _Oh Neville… I am so, so sorry._

Clara’s own thoughts had morphed from sympathetic grief to horror and disgust at the extent of her actions. She had just invaded her friend’s personal boundaries without even realizing it; she had just become an unwilling voyeur to something she was sure she wasn’t meant to know, a secret of Neville’s he hadn’t shared with her. She wanted to leave. She _needed_ to leave.

Moody picked the spider back up into his hand and walked slowly over to Hermione, a pleased look on his face. Hermione’s face was troubled and her eyes were suspiciously shiny, but her spine remained straight as she stared straight in front of her. “Perhaps _you_ can give us the last Unforgiveable Curse, Miss Granger.”

Hermione shook her head stubbornly, and Moody sighed. _“Avada Kedavra!”_ he roared, his wand jutted out in front of him at the poor, pained creature. In a flash of blinding light, the spider fell over onto its back, its legs kicked up into the air and unmistakably dead.

It was as if a dark cloak had been pulled over her senses, and this feeling of shock filled her while the nervousness and fear of her peers was overwhelmed by a terrible, dreadful sense of _wrong._

_Dead,_ her brain told her. _It’s dead._

Several students let out sharp gasps, but Clara couldn’t stand it for a moment longer. Everyone around her was feeling _too much_ and thinking _too much_ and she could barely process her own feelings, never mind Hermione’s and Neville’s and the other forty people sitting around her in disbelief. She couldn’t sit in this classroom and keep her mind afloat knowing that she’d just watch something die right in front of her for no other reason than to teach a lesson, that she’d seen something horrible inside the mind of one of her friend’s and she didn’t know if she’d ever look at him the same way again. A vice clamped down around her neck as she tried to pull in a whistled breath.

Woozily, she stood up from her chair, her hands splayed out in front of her on the desk to steady her. Distantly she could hear the sound of her chair collapsing against the ground, and she could feel the eyes and hear the passing thoughts of the people around her without really registering them, but the fog that had taken over her allowed all of these things to be pushed into the back of her mind. _Leave,_ she told herself. _Too much, too much, too much._

And in a move she’d regret later that evening, in a flurry that she’d describe as cowardly and feel her cheeks burn up thinking about, Clara abruptly left Defense Against the Dark Arts twenty minutes into the lesson. 

* * *

Sitting outside the classroom mournfully, Clara felt a surge of emotions take over her as she pressed a shaking hand over her mouth and clenched her eyes shut. She felt an exorbitant amount of mortification- had she really just _left_ like that? Gods, she was a complete and total idiot. The fact that Neville…knowing what she knew now, or at least, what she thought she knew… could remain in class like a civilized adult and she had run out like a child dug into her core. She was a fool and a coward and she was going to be in _such. Big. Trouble._

In her moment of vulnerability, she longed for Cedric. The stability of his emotions and the natural cheeriness to his mind would have been a welcome reprieve from the growing sense of self-awareness; as the overwhelmed feeling in her chest moved and was filled with humiliation, she felt much younger than fourteen and wanted to put her head in her hands and have a long, big cry like she had assured Hannah they would have the other day.

Perhaps she could simply remove herself from DADA for the rest of the year. Could an exception be made for her? Maybe if she explained to Professor Dumbledore something along the lines of, “ _hey Headmaster, I know this sounds crazy, but today I watched a spider die cruelly under the Unforgiveable Curses and it greatly upset me and my legilimency, and I’d really like to maybe leave this class and perhaps maybe even Hogwarts, please,”_ such an exception could be made.

It was unlikely. But a dream, nonetheless.

“Oh _Merlin,”_ she moaned as she shoved her head into her hands. “Oh, bloody hell, why did I _do that?!”_

Her head pulsed angrily, and as time ticked by, she wondered if it’d be very obvious if she escaped to the dormitories for the rest of the day. _Sorry Herbology Club, sorry Cedric, sorry Draco…_ she imagined herself saying. _I’ve decided to take a personal day. Please leave a message at my door, and I will get back to you as soon as I can, if I ever decide to leave my dormitory again._

She _wished._

Pacing around anxiously with indecision, her brain wracked itself to _do_ something. She couldn’t stay outside the classroom forever, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to make it to the dormitories without another person noticing. Personally, she felt that she’d humiliated herself today far more than her average, and she really didn’t think she could handle seeing anyone for the next few hours. Her hands itched to busy themselves, tingling and in need of distraction from the flurry in her mind.

As if a lightbulb lit up above her head, her feet started pushing in the direction of a place she knew she could alleviate these strange emotions as she worked, a place she could work out the tumult in her mind with something productive. 

She walked briskly down the hallways of Hogwarts, wrapping around corners in a way that would surely make her Prefect brother proud as she seamlessly flew from one corridor to the next. If there was one thing about the Hufflepuff dormitories she loved above all else, it was that its close proximity to the place she loved most in all of Hogwarts, one of the few havens she felt most useful. It was where she was able to watch her hands go to work as they molded dough or carefully crafted different shapes and sizes of the impermanent artwork she adored so much.

Opening the heavy wooden doors of the kitchen, Clara peaked inside and was relieved to see that because of the strange hour, only a few house-elves were inside getting ready for dinner preparations. “Hello,” she greeted thickly, her voice still tight from her tears even though she tried her best to give them a smile. “May I come in?”

A house-elf Clara had seen nearly every time she ever went into the kitchen helped her pull the door open with all her might. “Misses Diggory,” Tippy, an elf with particularly sad eyes and lopsided ears, replied in awe. “Tippy is wondering when you would come back, when you would come see Tippy and Wispy and Hobbs!”

“Well… I’m here,” Clara said unsurely, feeling suddenly like an intrusion on their activities. “Is it okay that I’m here? I don’t want to bother you…I can leave, if you’d prefer-”

“Misses Diggory is a very welcome guest, indeed! Misses should not worry about bothering Tippy, Tippy is just cleaning the soup spoons for tonight, but we can leave so Misses Diggory can be alone!”

Sending the elf a thankful and tired smile, she found herself immediately rummaging through the cabinets for ingredients as the elves wandered into their own corridors. Flour, sugar, baking soda, butter, and custard powder were quickly stacked in front of her as she tried to rid her mind of the embarrassment she felt churning in the deep recesses of her gut.

She’d have to be quick about her baking since she still had other things to do later in the day- custard creams were easy enough, so custard creams it was going to be.

After washing her hands, Clara threw on an apron that had been kindly offered to her by one of the kitchen elves, and she began to sift flour and mix it together with custard powder and baking soda. Her movements were well-practiced, if a little shaky as the adrenaline of escaping her class receded, and the noise of the kitchen was lost as she poured herself into her work.

Unlike legilimency, baking actually _was_ a science. It didn’t work on a temperamental basis; it was tangible and real and there was a series of formulas and balances to the art of baking that never changed. Her Mum was particularly adept in the kitchen, and she had exposed her daughter to the culinary world when Clara needed it the most. She had been a little girl, struggling with accidental magic, trying to compartmentalize the thoughts in her head that were not her own, and her Mum had given her something to busy herself with then too. Something to ground her, to make everything quiet and fade into the background. She had been tearing at her hair in stress, her hands pulling at strands in order to quell the pain of her headaches, and Mum had softly taken her hands into her own. With a kiss to both palms, her mother placed them on the kitchen countertop and pushed a roller over to her daughter.

_“When life gets hard, you’ve got to find something to push you along,” Mum confided, the soft lyricality to her Galway accent immediately soothing the young girl. “And you can’t get through anything without a little something sweet.”_

_“Even you need something sweet, Mummy?”_

_Her Mum had looked at her in that sad way she sometimes did, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes that she likely wouldn’t wear as often as she did if she realized just how often Clara felt the heaviness in her mother’s heart._

_“Even for me. But your Dad, Cedric, and you? You’re all my something sweet.”_

Clara’s hands pulled at the dough, and with a flick of her wand, the butter and sugar she’d taken out began to cream in a powder-pink ceramic mixing bowl. She shoved her hands into the dough like it had personally insulted her, the pent-up stress in her body leaving her as she pushed and pulled at the mixture.

“Clara?”

An unsure female voice sounded throughout the kitchen, and Clara nearly jumped right out of her skin at the sound of it. She turned around guiltily, her hands covered in flour as she glanced over to the source of the sound. Warm, tawny skin had paled with concern as the girl stared at Clara and the mess coating her hands and apron.

“Hermione,” Clara replied shyly, her cheeks tinged pink as she quickly cast a quick cleansing spell over herself. “I… I didn’t realize you were here, I’m sorry. Were you looking for me?”

Hermione stepped forward, her eyes roaming over the large kitchen for what was probably the first time since she’d come to Hogwarts. Most students didn’t ever visit this part of the castle, and if any students were to come to the kitchen at all, they certainly weren’t from Gryffindor. “Yes actually, I was,” she said concernedly. “Are you… are you alright?”

Clara turned back towards the dough that had been long-since ready for baking, her eyes focused on the light yellow concoction under her hands. “I’m okay,” she shrugged in forced nonchalance. “That was nice of you to ask. Are _you_ alright? I’m making custard creams. You can certainly have some, if you’d like.”

“I was just…well, you...you ran out of class, Clara.”

The familiar feeling of shame tingled across Clara’s shoulders, and she let out a laugh that sounded fake even to her own ears. “Oh… well, I was just feeling a bit dizzy, that’s all. I didn’t eat breakfast, sometimes I just get these...headaches...so I think it was just that. Did… was Professor Moody very mad?”

Hermione took another few steps, assessing the mixture over Clara’s shoulder while keeping careful space between her and her friend. “I don’t think he was,” she answered. “Maybe just...worried? A lot of us were. You seemed… you seemed really upset. Which I understand completely, what Professor Moody did was completely out-of-line, not to mention extraordinarily cruel.”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Clara’s hands slowed down, the feeling of dark brown eyes piercing into the side of her skull made her feel vulnerable, like Hermione could see right through her skin. Ducking her head, she moved over to the mixing bowl and began to shape the dough into little balls between her hands. The wild-haired girl said nothing and reclined against the large basin of one of the kitchen sinks, her arms crossed and expression contemplative.

A weird silence commenced between both girls, and Clara felt her cheeks heat as Hermione maintained a steady, focused gaze on her as she flitted around the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” she told her Gryffindor friend, her mouth twisted up into an embarrassed smile. “Please don’t be worried about me. I’m really okay. Do you… do you know if Neville’s alright?”

“I… think so? Professor Moody called him to his office after class. He was shaken up, as you probably noticed.”

_Noticed,_ Clara thought to herself wryly. _You don’t know the half of it._ “I thought I’d ask him at Herbology Club later this evening, maybe just to give him some time before I started bothering him with questions. I hope he likes custard creams.”

Hermione looked at her confusedly. “Herbology Club?” she laughed. “I… I didn’t realize anyone had actually joined.”

It was unintentional, that she knew by the Gryffindor’s immediate recoil, but the comment stung. As president (and one of the club’s co- founders), Herbology Club had become her own pet project, something she’d taken pride in since its beginning. It was the only real extra-curricular Clara participated in or felt passionate about, and it had taken _so long_ to spearhead the trajectory of their tiny organization into formal approval. A bitter part of her thought that perhaps someone with the reputation Hermione had, her contribution to The Golden Trio, the “brightest witch of her age” didn’t have time for such… _pedestrian..._ activities. But it was important to Clara and to Neville and Hannah and even if it wasn’t important to anyone else, even if everyone just came to the meetings out of some sense of pity or friendship responsibility, it was _hers._

“Clara- I didn’t mean- “

“No, it’s okay. I get it,” Clara said lightly, lining the balls of dough on a parchment-covered baking sheet. “It’s not for everyone… we’re pretty small, anyway.”

Hermione’s face fell as she racked her brain for something to say, to find the apology she so desperately wanted to give, but she spluttered as Clara put the tray in the oven and began a cleansing spell over the kitchen. Neither girl made eye contact as another awkward silence filled the air.

“I-I just meant that...well, what I meant to say was...I’m sorry, I’m fudging this up, aren’t I?” Hermione asked quietly, her eyes wide as she inwardly wished she could take back her words. Clara smiled at her, wanting to push past the awkwardness between them as she waved away the apology. She needed to get these cookies ready, and the stilted conversation between them wasn’t exactly helping her hurry along.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Mione. Was there… was there something else you needed?”

The Gryffindor girl’s eyes widened as if she had forgotten why she’d ever come there in the first place, and she shook her head. “No, no...just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for checking in on me. That was really sweet of you.”

With a stiff arm pat, Hermione began to walk out of the kitchen, feeling particularly self-loathing since the conversation she planned had not gone as she’d hoped. Just as she approached the kitchen doors, Clara called her friend’s name without a second thought.

“Hermione?”

Stilling in her steps, Hermione turned around, her expression curious. “Yes?”

“Is...I just…” Clara began, not sure how to word the question she’d had in her mind since she saw all three Gryffindors in class earlier. “Out of curiosity… do you know if Harry’s okay?”

“What would make you ask that?”

“I... I dunno, he just feels… he seems a little off to me, I mean,” she quickly corrected, hoping the slip of her tongue had gone unnoticed by her friend.

Unfortunately, they didn’t call Hermione the brightest witch of her age for nothing.

With an indecipherable look, Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and looked down at the floor, a series of expressions flitting across her face that went by too quickly for Clara to make out what they could be. “I don’t know,” Hermione answered honestly. “I really don’t.”

The concern Clara felt for her celebrity-idol-turned-friend grew tenfold. If Hermione didn’t know if Harry was alright, did anyone? Did she feel it too, the strangeness in his demeanor, the pain in his eyes?

“It’s probably nothing,” Hermione replied in an obvious lie.

“Yeah… you’re probably right.”

“But, uh, thank you,” she said to Clara in a serious tone. “For asking about him. It’d mean a lot to him, you know.”

“What would?”

“That you care enough to ask.”

Clara looked at her questioningly, unsure what Hermione was trying to imply. “It’s just that...well,” Hermione began, her eyes solemn. “You’d be surprised, but a lot of people wouldn’t bother to ask about him. Or really mean it, anyway. You’re...you’re a really nice person, Clara.”

The words should have lifted Clara’s spirits, but instead, she felt a wistful sort of sadness as Hermione loomed in the doorway, unsure of what to do with herself. Despite being friends, they didn’t have anything close to the relationship she had with Hannah or Hermione had with Ron and Harry. In a roundabout sort of way, Clara realized Hermione didn’t really have any close girlfriends the way she did, and that maybe she was as close to female companionship as the Gryffindor was able to get.

“You’re nice too, Hermione,” she said, sending her the most genuine smile she could muster at the moment. “Harry’s really lucky to have you. And Ron. Both of them are.”

Hermione’s cheeks pinkened, and with a last parting glance, she left the kitchen and Clara was alone once again.

* * *

Clara was bone tired.

The kind of tiredness that only really settles in after a day in which the minutes feel a lot more like hours; an exhaustion that felt far too heavy on her shoulders and in her head.

If her humiliating escape from class wasn’t bad enough, Herbology Club had gone terribly. She and Neville, her trusty Vice President, were still quite shaken from the earlier events in the day and it showed. While their little club was a safe haven for their tender-hearted friends, Zacharias Smith, a boy Hannah once described as a Hufflepuff anomaly because he fundamentally lacked most of the attributed characteristics of their house, was quick to incite a what she could only describe as a row with both club leaders. Why he even showed up to their introductory meeting was a question only Merlin himself could answer, seeing as he had very little passion for...well anything at all, really, least of all Herbology.

Dinner was a somber affair- Hannah ranted about Zacharias’ rude behavior as Clara pushed brussel sprouts around her plate, her head propped up by her hand while she tried to distract herself from Cedric’s tardiness. He was, of course, placing his name in the Goblet with the support of his Quidditch friends whose enthusiasm she couldn’t share. Once he had arrived, red-faced, beaming, and none the wiser about her leave from class earlier, Clara had put on what she hoped was one of the most stellar acting performances of her fourteen years and smiled appropriately.

As she walked down to the greenhouse to work with Draco once again, she found her feet moving much slower than she wished as she trudged on down the hill. Sleep wouldn’t be hard to come by tonight, not if the heaviness in her eyelids and her constant yawning had anything to do with it.

“You’re late.”

A sigh left her mouth before she could stop it, but she mustered up an apologetic half-grin as she set her satchel down on the ground and moved over to the table where Draco stood, his eyes not meeting hers as he stared at the Bubotuber in front of him like it was an arithmancy problem he couldn’t solve. “Sorry,” she said quietly, an embarrassed heat rising to her cheeks as she moved over next to him. Draco said nothing.

They went back to work in complete silence not too different from the other night, but Clara found that the normal fluidity to her movements was halted by her exhaustion as she continuously raised her dragonhide-covered hand to suppress her yawns. Draco’s aggravated huffs and the clumsiness in his handiwork subdued into the background as her eyes zeroed in on her task, sleepiness overwhelming her as she continued to extract the pus from her plant.

“You look terrible,” Draco said with a tight jaw, not even bothering to look up at her. Clara flinched, her mouth falling into a frown. “What?”

“I said,” he repeated slowly. “You look terrible.”

“It’s been a bit of a day. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“Yes, well, I suppose the humiliation of running out of class like your arse was on fire _would_ be tiring.”

Nausea at the mention of her antics from earlier ate at her stomach, and if she were a little more brazen, she’d run straight out of the greenhouse, too. Clara realized it hadn’t even been a full day since it happened, but she wished more than anything that everyone had already forgotten about it. “Oh,” she choked out, closing one of the bottles of pus tightly shut as she mentally flailed for something to say. Why would he bring that up, was it in jest or a jab?

It felt like a jab.

Another silence fell between them, but Draco disrupted it once more as a pus-filled wart burst in his hands. “It was just a stupid spider,” he said incredulously, still not paying her the kindness of a bit of eye contact. “But I suppose you ‘Puffs are a bunch of softies. Must’ve been a lot for your delicate little sensibilities.”

_Do not rise to his level,_ Clara thought to herself as she took a deep breath. _He’s trying to bait you. Getting upset will do nothing but prove his point._

“I was actually feeling quite ill,” she lied to him. “I left because I thought I might need to go to Madam Pomfrey’s.”

Draco scoffed loudly, his eyes rolling. “Gods, I don’t know what sort of lessons they teach you in that joke of a house you live in, but lying surely isn’t one of them.”

“I’m not lying. That’s why I look terrible, like you said.”

“I think you look terrible because you’ve probably realized you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of a good half of the students in our year. You’re not sick at all, just ashamed.”

Stilling in her movements, Clara quietly placed the extractors down on the table and bit her lip. “So you think what he did was right?”

Draco looked mildly surprised that she spoke up, which she only noticed by the slight falter in his hands. “Do I think what was right, exactly?”

“Professor Moody. Torturing and killing that spider.”

“It was a bloody spider, for Godric’s sake.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

With an exasperated sigh, he let out a bitter laugh. “I’m not a child,” he retorted. “Things die all the time.”

“You don’t really believe that though,” Clara pushed. “I mean… I just mean, it seems awfully apathetic, is all. To think that it’s okay to kill something just because it would die anyway?”

Draco’s eyes lifted to hers, narrowed as his mouth screwed itself up into something bitter and angry. “You don’t know what I believe,” he spat. “You don’t know anything about me, and I’d appreciate it if you don’t bring up such utterly _useless_ conversation again. Because you and I are Herbology partners against both of our wills and there’s no point in pretending like either of us would like to really be here, or that either of us would talk to the other about such stupid shite if we didn’t have this fucking class together.”

Clara had no idea what she said wrong, but she’d clearly pressed a button she didn’t even know was there. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to assume- “

“Are you _still talking?_ ” Draco snapped nastily. “Merlin, this assignment isn’t going to get done on its own. But if you keep yammering on, you will be.”

Once again, both Draco and Clara fell into the same sad silence they had before.

It was a reluctant thought but a thought that weighed heavily on her mind as they worked quietly, tension thick in the air. But perhaps, a tiny little part of her wondered if it wasn’t too late to change partners, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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